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TUHINGA

262015

Records of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa

2015

Tuhinga: Records of the Museum of New Zealand

Te Papa Tongarewa

The journal of scholarship and mätauranga

Number 26, 2015

Tuhinga: Records of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewais a peer-reviewed publication, published annually byTe Papa Press PO Box 467, Wellington, New Zealand

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ISSN 1173-4337

All papers © Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa 2015Published June 2015

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Tuhinga: Records of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa TongarewaNumber 26, 2015

Contents

Pä in Porirua: social settlements 1

Pat Stodart

H.D.Skinner’s use of associates within the colonial administrative 20structure of the Cook Islands in the development of Otago Museum’s Cook Islands collections

Ian Wards

A silver slice of Mäori history: the Te Pahi medal 31

Mark Stocker

Re-evaluation of the taxonomic status of Cyathea kermadecensis and 49C.milnei (Cyatheaceae) supports their continued recognition

Pat Brownsey and Leon Perrie

IntroductionThe construction of a new pä or large käinga is a monu -mental undertaking in the true sense of the word. It was notcarried out lightly, nor was it carried out for a single reason.At least two deliberate decisions need to be made before anew pä is made: first to create a new pä; and second, whereto site it. At times we can confuse the where of pä con -struction with the why, but a good position for a pä is notthe same as a need to have more pä. The question that liesat the heart of the contention that pä are created as part ofa social dynamic, is why build more pä?

Travel routes, resources and defence determine the place -ment of a pä. The historical record can generally tell us whothe constructors were as well as give a general idea of when päwere built. A case study, such as the example of Porirua insouthwest North Island, New Zealand, discussed here, seeksto separate all the reasons behind the existence of each pä.

Porirua has 12 pä or käinga within an area of approxi -mately 2100km2 built in the 30-year period between 1823and 1852, giving a very dense settlement pattern. The primary reasons behind this density were social rather thanbased on speciality resources or even defence. By demon-strat ing that social development was a primary factor in settlement patterns, we can begin to place the constructionand occupation of pä in a more human context.

Is it a pä? A note onnomenclature

The term pä is used in this paper. Historically it was oftenused interchangeably with the term käinga. This is because in some instances it is difficult to determine if the defence of a settlement was considered a defining point from the occupants’ perspective. In Porirua, the term pä is still usedlocally for any concentrated Ngäti Toa settlement.

Any taxonomy used to describe settlements is artificial,and as a result actual settlements don’t always fit neatly into the categories commonly applied in anthropology. Inthis analysis, it has not been easy to be exact about the typeof Ngäti Toa settlements dating from this period, and thishas led to the exclusion of other settlements in Porirua fromthis analysis.

The most basic of criteria were used to establish which settlements should be included in the study: the settlementmust have had some defensive capability; it must have beenoccupied year-round; and the population of the settlementmust have been a significant proportion of the total popula-tion of the region. However, even these basic propositions arevery hard to prove, and in fact may not apply all of the timefor any given settlement. For example, in some settlementsdefences were added long after they were founded, and in

Tuhinga 26: 1–19 Copyright © Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (2015)

Pä in Porirua: social settlements

Pat StodartMuseum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, PO Box 467, Wellington, New Zealand

([email protected])

ABSTRACT: This paper examines the records of 12 pä (fortified settlements) and käinga (settlements) in use during the Ngäti Toa occupation of Porirua in the 1823–52 period. Thehistories of each pä and of their major builders are briefly recorded, focusing on the reasonsfor both the founding and the abandonment of the pä. This information is examined andthe conclusion drawn that the creation of these pä was primarily the result of social dynamics. Environmental resources seem to affect the siting of these pä rather than causingtheir creation. This interpretation may shed some light on why so many pä were builtthroughout the later part of New Zealand prehistory and the European contact period.

KEYWORDS: Pä, käinga, settlement pattern, Porirua, New Zealand, Ngäti Toa.

others their defences lapsed. Some defences might even beconsidered more boundary markers than workable defen-sive lines. Similarly, pä populations would often wax andwane year by year and even season by season.

A good example of a settlement that is hard to define isthe one at Titahi Bay. It began as a fishing village and pä forNgäti Ira. Some Ngäti Maru settled there after 1832, havingjourneyed south in the Tama Te Uaua heke (migration) ofthat year (Smith 1910: 489). No fortifications are recordedat Titahi, and although ethnologist Elsdon Best mentionsthree distinct small sites (Best 1914), little else is recorded.It may be that there is no discrete site there. So although itis certain that Titahi was occupied and we even know bywhom, at best it can be classed as a käinga and even thenperhaps one that was only seasonally occupied. OtherPorirua settlements are even smaller, such as Aotea, or morenotably seasonal, such as Onepoto.

A 13th pä, Te Paripari, has been excluded from the studyas it falls outside the Porirua basin geographically, being morethan one day’s walk from the next-nearest pä in Porirua. TeParipari did lie within the geopolitical sphere of Porirua, as did Kapiti Island, Waikanae and other areas of settlement.However, the study area needed to be delineated, and for

good or bad the Kapiti Coast pä, Te Paripari and the pä to thesouth and east of Porirua are excluded.

In addition to the decisions required for identifyingwhich settlements to include in the study, it has also beendifficult to be precise about periods of occupation in theabsence of independent accurate scientific dating of each site.As a result, much reliance has had to be made on historicalrecords and later recorded traditions.

Pä in PoriruaFrom an academic point of view, Porirua is an excellentregion for a case study on pä locations, primarily becausebetween 1819 and 1822 the existing resident iwi, Ngäti Ira,was replaced in total by Ngäti Toa. Because of this we cantrace the development of a settlement pattern for a regionfrom its beginning. The observance is made possible due tothe fact that the change of settlement from Ngäti Ira to NgätiToa was close to the time when memories from oral traditionswere written down for the Mäori Land Court records andother proceedings.

The hydrographic chart surveyed by HMS Acheron datedto 1850 (HMS Acheron 1850; Fig. 1) is one of a few

2 Tuhinga, Number 26 (2015)

Table. 1 Pä in Porirua, 1823–52.

Pä Primary occupation period Chief

Pukerua 1835–51 Tungia

Hongoeka 1824–present Nohorua

Motuhara 1823–90 Karehana Whakataki

Taupo Pä (Turi Karewa) 1843–46 Te Rangihaeata

Taupo Village 1838–50 Te Rauparaha

Paremata 1835–45 Te Rakaherea, Te Kanawa

Kaitawa 1840s–48 Unknown

Komanga-rautawhiri 1839–51 Te Rangi-takarore

Takapuwahia 1845–present Rawiri Puaha

Motukaraka 1846 Te Rangihaeata

Matai-taua 1846 Te Rangihaeata

Mana Island 1831–43 Te Rangihaeata


Fig.1 Detail from New Zealand. Cook Strait – Kapiti Island. Entry anchorage. Admiralty chart of New Zealand 2588, surveyed by HMSAcheron (1850). 1: 180,000. London: Great Britain Hydrographic Office (832.47aj 1850 Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington).

cartographic sources for the area, but even so only promi -nent pä and käinga are depicted, notably Hongoeka (markedas ‘Pah’ in Anchorage Bay), Taupo, Takapuwahia (marked as‘Maori Village’ south of Cooper Valley) and Komanga-rautawhiri (marked as ‘Bridge Pah’). Minor occupations arenot shown, while others – like Mana Island – had beenabandoned by this date. Table 1 gives a summary of the päand käinga discussed in the text.

Background to the 1820ssettlement of Porirua

From the mid-seventeenth century, Porirua was the territoryof Ngäti Ira, who also occupied Wellington and parts of the Wairarapa. At the time of Ngäti Toa’s first incursions into the area, the leading local Ngäti Ira chief was Whanake(also named Te Huka-tai-o-Ruatapu). Best (1901) recordsWhanake’s favourite dwelling place as being the entrance to Porirua Harbour, while historian Angela Ballara (2006) relates his home as being at Omanga-rau-tawhiri(presumably Komanga-rautawhiri, about 2 km southwestof Titahi Bay).

The Ngäpuhi/Ngäti Toa Amiowhenua taua (war party)in 1819–20 found Korohiwa (just south of Titahi Bay) tobe a stockade pä, and Waimapihi at Pukerua Bay and Te Pao Kapo just north of Titahi Bay to be earthwork pä (Best1901: 148). Prior to the Ngäti Toa occupation, the numberof fortified pä present seems to have been limited: ‘some of Ngati-Ira, at Porirua, were slain in their cultivations butthat no fortified villages were seen there’ (Best 1919: 73,probably quoting Smith 1899).

Ethnologist Percy Smith records how in the secondAmiowhenua raid, in 1821, an unnamed informantdescribed the lack of (occupied) pä in Porirua: ‘then we pro-ceeded to Porirua and Kapiti; at the former place we saw thekotuku (white crane), and killed some of the people of thatPort (Ngati Ira) but there were no pas; the people were foundand killed in their cultivations’ (Smith 1899: 49–50).

Pressure from Waikato iwi and a desire for Europeantrade led some Ngäti Toa to migrate to Kapiti and Poriruaunder the chiefs Te Pehi Kupe, Te Rauparaha and TeRangihaeata. Ngäti Toa settled on Kapiti Island, turning it into a strategic fortress. Within a few years they invitedseveral other iwi into the area, later forming a confederationof related iwi that included Ngäti Raukawa and Te Ati Awa.

The Battle of Waiorua (c.1824) signalled the end of NgätiToa’s confinement to Kapiti Island; henceforth the iwi would

begin to spread out to occupy the area they had won by forceof arms. A second expansion from Kapiti, described byTamihana Te Rauparaha, is recalled as taking place in theyears after the defeat of Ngäi Tahu at Kaiapoi and Onawe in1831 (Butler 1980: 52).

‘The living together on Kapiti was now finished, as it hadbecome too crowded … Te Rauparaha stayed on at Kapitiand Otaki. Te Rangihaeata went to live at Mana, amongother places. Some went to Porirua; others to Wainui and allalong the coast to Pukerua and Wairaka’ (Butler 1980: 52).This movement is reiterated by historian Wakahuia Carkeek(1966: 81): ‘Ropata Hurumutu was the chief of Wainui Pa, having resided at that place since the Haowhenua Battlein 1834.’

With the defeat of all the Kapiti Coast iwi and the SouthIsland Ngäi Tahu, not only could Ngäti Toa colonise themainland, but they could also build unfortified käinga as well as pä. In fact, prior to 1843 and the Ngäti Toa–European conflicts, none of the Porirua pä was stronglydefensive in nature.

Ngäti Toa had small settlements at Aotea, Papakowhai,Kahutea and other places around Porirua Harbour, but forthe purposes of this paper they are not considered. This isbecause the archaeological and traditional evidence indicatesthey were seasonal camps of a temporary nature rather thanpermanent, year-round occupation sites during this period.

It is also important to remember that chiefs had pä inother places, or at least held sway over them – for Ngäti Toa,these sites extended to the other side of the Cook Strait. Forexample, the missionary John Hobbs felt that Kakapo in theMarlborough Sounds was Rawiri Puaha’s principal residencein 1839 (Roberts 1992: 63), but naturalist Ernst Dieffenbachwrote that Nohorua was the chief of Kakapo at this time(Dieffenbach 1843: vol. I, p.63).

The pä builders of PoriruaThe 1819–20 Amiowhenua raid, which brought TeRauparaha and Ngäti Toa to Porirua, included a number ofother leaders. These Percy Smith (1899) lists as Te Rauparaha,Te Rangihaeata, Tungia, Te Rako, Te Kakakura, Hiroa,Nohorua, Puaha, Tamaihengia and ‘others’. Most of thesereappear as chiefs of Porirua pä over the next 30 years, butwere they chiefs of pä as a reward for their loyalty or was itsimply that the qualities required for taking part in a tauawere the same as those needed by the leader of a pä? Certainlyin Porirua, the chiefs of pä were fighting chiefs.


The most important of the Ngäti Toa chiefs of this periodwas undoubtedly Te Rauparaha. Often said to have beenborn in the 1760s (although his actual date of birth isunknown), Te Rauparaha was the son of Werawera of NgätiToa and his second wife, Parekowhatu of Ngäti Raukawa.Although not of the highest rank, Te Rauparaha rose to theleadership of Ngäti Toa because of his aggressive defence ofhis tribe’s interests and his skill in battle. He took his tribefrom defeat in Kawhia to the conquest of new territories incentral New Zealand. The history of Te Rauparaha isessentially the history of Ngäti Toa in the period 1810–49.

In the 1820s, Te Rauparaha led a major portion of NgätiToa south to the Cook Strait area and resettled there. Aftersecuring the iwi’s position, he led raids to the South Islandand established alliances with local iwi. Te Rauparaha alsoestablished a strong trading relationship with Europeanwhalers and traders in the Cook Strait, with the result thatthe area became the second-largest source of Europeanmaterials, particularly muskets, in New Zealand (Urlich1970: 404). The arrival of the New Zealand Company in1839 and subsequent land sale disputes led to a series ofconfrontations with surveyors, settlers and the British Army,resulting in the Wellington land war of 1846. In July of that year, Te Rauparaha was seized from Taupo Pä. He waskept on HMS Calliope for 10 months, then allowed to livein Auckland under ‘house arrest’. In 1848, he was returnedto his people in Otaki, where he led them in buildingRangiätea Church. He died on 27 November 1849.

The most notorious chief, as far as the European settlerswere concerned, was Te Rangihaeata. He was probably born in the 1780s. His father was Te Rakaherea and hismother Waitohi, the elder sister of Te Rauparaha. Oftencalled Te Rauparaha’s lieutenant, Te Rangihaeata was a majorchief in his own right, a warrior of great renown, a poet, anorator and a master carver. He was the leader of Mäoriresistance to land sales in the Wellington region, and in1846 was forced from Porirua into the Horowhenua. Hedied on 18 November 1855.

The father of chief Te Whatarauhi Nohorua wasWerawera, making him the elder half-brother of TeRauparaha. He was also uncle to Te Rangihaeata – Nohorua’smother, Waitaoro, was the sister of Te Rangihaeata’s father,Te Rakaherea. He was acknowledged as the primary tribaltohunga tumutaueka, a term associated with spiritual warleaders (Mitchell & Mitchell 2007: 103) and is recorded as having fought as a warrior. His first wife was Whare-mawhai of Ngäti Rahiri, and he later married Miriama TeWainokenoke of the Ngäti Haumia hapü (sub-tribe).

After moving off Kapiti Island, Nohorua first went toPukerua and then to Taupo/Hongoeka and Titahi Bay. By1843, he was resident at Cloudy Bay in the South Island. Hedrowned shortly after when his canoe capsized betweenTitahi Bay and Mana Island (Rei 1980).

Tungia of the Ngäti Te Maunu hapü of Ngäti Toa wasthe son of Pikauterangi and grandson of Te Maunu, who inturn was the younger brother of Kimihia. Tungia’s wifeRangimakiri was also directly descended from Kimihia.Tungia was known as the ‘Wild Fellow’ by local whalers(Wakefield 1845: vol. I, p.92) and was one of the originalwarriors of the 1819–20 Ngäpuhi/Ngäti Toa Amiowhenuaraid into the lower North Island. His actions in taking thePukerua pä while a member of that taua were of particularnote according to Smith (1910: 303). Tungia built his firstpä, called Waiorua, around 1822–24 at Te Kahu o te Rangion Kapiti Island (Mäori Land Court 1874: 435–449). Later,he built a new pä at Pukerua Bay. In 1840, he signed theTreaty of Waitangi at Port Nicholson alongside other NgätiToa chiefs. His daughter Oriwia married Ropata Hurumutuof the Ngäti Haumia hapü, who had captured the Ngäi Tahupä at Kaikoura and was later the chief of the pä at Wainui inthe Paekakariki area. A second daughter married the whalerTommy Evans, to whom Tungia sold Tokomapuna Islandoff Kapiti. The date of Tungia’s death is unknown, but wasbefore 1846.

Rawiri Kingi Puaha was the eldest son of Hinekoto (sisterto Nohorua and half-sister to Te Rauparaha) and Te MatoeHinekoto. Puaha was a high-ranking Ngäti Toa chief; hiselder brother Te Kanae and younger brother Tamaihengiawere both important chiefs in their own right (Wakefield1845: vol. I, p.105), and he married Ria Waitohi, daughterof the paramount Ngäti Toa chief Te Pehi Kupe. Puaha wasone of the leading warriors in Ngäti Toa’s migration fromKawhia in the 1820s (Smith 1910: 303), and he fought at the battles of Haowhenua (c. 1834) and Te Kuititanga(1839). In the early 1840s, he converted to Christianity and became a Wesleyan missionary teacher (‘A noted chief-tainess’ 1912: 6). Puaha died at Takapuwahia, Porirua, on 6 September 1858.

Besides these prominent chiefs there were others of lesser renown. One such chief was Hoani Te Okoro, whosestate ment at the Ngakaroro hearing of the Mäori LandCourt in 1874, when he was talking of Te Waha o teMarangai near Otaki, is a blunt summary of his rights andmana over the land: ‘I killed men there. I am of Ngati Toa,Ngati Kimihia’ (Mäori Land Court 1874). Te Okoro wasalso listed as having been given land by Ngäti Toa at


Takapuwahia, where he became the Episcopalian minister.Little else is recorded about him, but from these few lineswe can see that he fits the pattern of a chief of the Kimihiahapü who had been a warrior of note. He was one of the 26Ngäti Toa chiefs who received a grant of 200 acres (80ha)from the government in 1853.

Hapü: the people in the pä Moving beyond the level of individual, we can begin to seehow the relationships between the chiefs extend to the nextsocial level of extended family group or hapü.

At the time of the Battle at Waiorua on Kapiti Island in1824, the Ngäti Toa hapü of Te Kiriwera, Ngäti Koata,Ngäti Hangai and Ngäti Haumia are recorded as beingpresent there. This is according to Ihaia Te Paki, who relatedthe information to Elsdon Best (Best 1901: 163). PercySmith also includes Ngäti Rärua among the major Ngäti Toahapü but notes that ‘there are many hapu claiming ancestrywith Ngati Toa’ (Smith 1910: 315). Ngäti Kahutaiki was thehapü of Nopera te Ngiha, an important witness at the MäoriLand Court hearings of the 1870s.

Te Pehi Kupe’s hapü was Ngäti Te Maunu, and accordingto the evidence of Matene Te Whiwhi (Ballara 1990: 20), thechief of the Ngäti Toa Te Rä hapü was Te Rakaherea TeTuaruau. Te Rakaherea survived the massacre associatedwith the attempt on Te Rauparaha’s life at Ohau in 1822,and confusion in the records between him and TeRangihaeata’s father, who had the same name, appearedfrom early on (Graham 1945: 77).

Te Rauparaha’s own hapü, Ngäti Kimihia, had control of the major pä in the Porirua basin. Te Rauparaha andNohorua were both grandsons of Kimihia, while his great-grandsons included Te Rangihaeata, Te Kanae, Puaha andTamaihengia; all of these descendants were prominent chiefsof the area. Tungia was married to another descendant ofKimihia, Rangimakiri, and he was a grandson of Kimihia’sbrother Te Maunu. Between them, the descendants ofKimihia were responsible for building nine of the pä andkäinga in Porirua; the relationships between them are shownin a simplified form in Fig. 2.

Te Rauparaha gave the land at Hongoeka to Nohorua, hisNgäti Haumia wife Miriama Te Wainokenoke and herpeople. The Mäori Land Court judgment of 1871 grantedthis land to seven individuals, among them several leaders,some of whom had had little to do with Hongoeka. Theseincluded the chief of the Wainui pä, Ropata Hurumutu.However, Ropata was probably the most prominent NgätiHaumia leader of the time, so in effect the claimants werereasserting the right of the hapü to the land through descentfrom Te Wainokenoke (Hongoeka Marae 1997: 10).

Relationships between individuals is complex; the ties ofhapü are strong, as is respect for earlier generations. TamihanaTe Rauparaha refers to Tungia and Te Hiko as Te Rauparaha’sgrandchildren (Butler 1980: 64), when they were not related in this way in the strict genealogical sense. The Mäori Land Court minutes also contain numerous refer-ences to elders being referred to as mätua (parents) whenthey are in fact an older relation. It should be noted that theEuropean fixation on direct genealogical relationships being


Marangaiparoa

Kimihia = Waitohi

Werewera

Te Maunu

Karewa

Nohorua Hinekoto Waitohi Te Rauparaha Akamapuhia Pikauterangi

Te Kanae

Waitaoro Parekowhatu

Puaha Tamaihengia Te Rangihaeata Rangimakiri Tungia=

= =

Fig.2 Descendants of Kimihia, with the builders of pä in the Porirua basin in bold.

the basis of inheritance (of authority as well as of property)did not always apply in Mäori society at this time.

It is also important to note that what distinguishes iwi,hapü and extended whänau (family) groups is not alwaysclear, the aforementioned Ngäti Haumia being a case inpoint – Raiha Prosser (née Puaha) stated in 1905 that the päat Waikanae was occupied by Ngäti Toa and by NgätiHaumia, a hapü of Ngäti Toa (Royal Commission 1905: 11).Quite what she meant to convey by distinguishing a hapüas separate from its iwi is unclear. Perhaps she identified herown hapü, Kimihia, as Ngäti Toa and wished to distinguishit from Haumia, or perhaps she was trying to convey asubtlety of tribal organisation that is lost in translation.

Special individuals in specialcircumstances:

leaders and fighting chiefsThere are two particular instances in the history of päbuilding in Porirua that stand out. The first concerns theleading chief Te Rauparaha and how little direct impact hehad on the number of pä in Porirua. The second instanceconcerns the creation and occupation of three pä within asmany years by Te Rangihaeata.

Te Rauparaha and three pä in 27 yearsDescriptions of Te Rauparaha’s lifestyle indicate that he wasat times constantly on the move from settlement to settle -ment, and that Kapiti, Taupo Village and Otaki can bedescribed only as his principal residences. We know that he also had houses at Mana Island (Fig. 1) and elsewhere,indicating that he was not just a guest but a regular occupierof some of these places.

Europeans assumed this life of constant travel was becauseTe Rauparaha feared for his life and moved to outwit anyassassination plot. These European observers would nothave at first realised just how precarious the alliancesbetween various iwi could be and the constant work neededto hold this confederation together. Ngäti Toa held itsposition of prominence by trade networks with Europeansand by a confederation of iwi that were not naturally allied.It is apparent that Te Rauparaha would constantly need tobe on the move to ensure that flax and other crops wereready for trade and that disputes were resolved.

The confederation was in many respects based on TeRauparaha’s personal mana (prestige). With the confedera-

tion consisting of many who were considerable leaders intheir own right, Te Rauparaha would have needed to use his mana to settle disputes and impose his will, something he could not readily delegate. Although the actual growing of the crops, their harvesting and their trading could be trusted to others, the presence of a senior chief would ensurethat all remembered it was he who was in overall commandand he who settled disputes.

If Te Rauparaha was in such a constant state of move -ment, and his mana extended over the entire area, why didhe have a käinga of his own at all? The answer is probablythat he needed to have a türangawaewae – a ceremonialbase and a home – for his own whänau, made up of hisimmediate family and followers. In fact, from the time ofNgäti Toa’s successful capture of Kapiti Island in c. 1821, theprincipal leader of the iwi, Te Rauparaha (as opposed to theparamount chief, Te Pehi Kupe), had only the three pä orkäinga mentioned above – Kapiti, Taupo Village and Otaki– indicating a more settled lifestyle than is at first apparent.

Te Rangihaeata and three pä in three years

In contrast to Te Rauparaha, Te Rangihaeata built three päin three years.

In June 1843, disputes over the New Zealand Company’sdoubtful land purchases from Ngäti Toa came to a head atthe Wairau River near modern-day Blenheim, and with thedeaths of both colonists and Ngäti Toa (notably Te RongoPomamoe, a relative of Te Rangihaeata who was under his

protection), the two sides armed themselves for war. In thedays following the Wairau Affray, Ngäti Toa left CloudyBay and returned to Kapiti Island, and Ngäti Awa returnedto Taranaki – the Wesleyan missionary Samuel Ironsiderecords the bay’s coves as being empty except for isolatedwhaling parties (Chambers 1982: 139).

Te Rangihaeata himself moved from Kaitangata, hiscarved house on Mana Island, to new pä, first Turi Karewaat Taupo Bay (Plimmerton), then Motukaraka, and finallyMatai-taua at Pauatahanui, all between June 1843 and June1846.

The construction of each new pä was forced by strategicreasoning. Mana Island was in a strong defensive position upuntil the time that British warships and marines made itvulnerable. As Te Rangihaeata become more opposed tothe British presence, he moved from Mana to Turi Karewa,and as the situation deteriorated further, he moved from


there, realising the pä’s tactical vulnerability. Certainly hewas proved correct, as seen in the raid on Taupo, Motuharaand Hongoeka in June 1846 (see below). The patrols bysmall gunboats proved also that Motukaraka was notimmune from attack, hence Te Rangihaeata’s last movewithin the district was to Matai-taua.

People would live at different places at different times –for example, for seasonal harvesting, for the gathering of kaimoana (seafood) and in times of war. These movementsmight be either of individuals, of whole hapü or anything inbetween, and they might happen on a regular basis or at veryshort notice.

Pä locationsPä and käinga were, of course, placed within the landscapefor a number of physical reasons beyond any socio-politicalimportance. All sites were influenced by a number of factors,including the proximity of walking tracks, the availability ofresources and defensive capabilities. In the case of the Poriruapä, however, one factor usually predominates.

Routes

Two major tracks ran through Porirua: Purehurehu, whichcrossed the range between Pauatahanui and Heretaunga;and Taua-tapu, which ran from Pukerua Bay to Plimmerton(Smith 1910: 10). Taupo and Motuhara Pä were sited at thesouthern end of the Taua Tapu track, while at the northernend were Waimapihi and Tungia’s Pukerua Bay settlement.

The early colonist Thomas Bevan gives an account of ajourney on this track undertaken in 1845 (Bevan 1907).

The village of Takapuwahia was close by the KenepuruStream and the long-established Mäori track running northfrom Wellington Harbour. Matai-taua sat at the Pauatahanui(western) end of the Purehurehu track and was at thejunction of tracks leading to and from the Hutt Valley,Kapiti Coast and Porirua. Titahi Bay was the launchingpoint for canoes to the South Island, and Paremata sat at thejunction of Porirua’s two harbours. Besides the regionaltransport routes linking settlements, there were also localtracks between the Porirua pä.

Resources

Pre-contact settlements seem to have been generally basedaround a hapü, the size of which was closely related to thesustainability of local resources. Too large a hapü, and the

resources – in particular food – could not cope; too small agroup, and effective harvesting of resources could not occur.There were some actions that could be taken to help mitigatestrained resources, such as seasonal movements and raidingother groups.

Post-contact, however, settlements may not necessarilyhave had to follow the previous rules. European goods astrade items would have put pressure on local resources – flax,for example, would have been more heavily drawn upon for trade purposes and hence required a larger workforce.Some resources, on the other hand, would have becomemore plentiful, such as the total root-crop harvest as hardierand more productive species like the potato and pumpkin were introduced. Historian Hazel Petrie has also made theargument that access to productive land (and defensibleproductive land especially) is likely to attract followers (Petrie2002: 1)

Taupo Village was located midway between Taupo Swampand the water’s edge – the perfect place for trading flax grownin the swamp with Europeans arriving by sea. Over a six-month period in 1831, six ships transported more than 600tonnes of flax from Kapiti to Sydney (Millar 1971: 63). Thenumber of muskets in particular exchanged for flax wasenough to make Kapiti one of the top trading centres inNew Zealand (Urlich 1970: 404). Komanga-rautawhiri andParemata Pä were built close to whaling stations specificallyfor trade and the exchange of labour. The opportunity toprovide goods and services to these outside ventures was notone to be missed, and Europeans became a valuable resourceto be cultivated and drawn upon.

More traditional resources also helped in the siting of thepä at Mana Island, Komanga-rautawhiri, Paremata andHongoeka. All remain today as prime fishing spots, and in previous decades Motuhara and Takapuwahia shared the same reputation. Motukaraka, meanwhile, was on thePauatahanui Inlet, which was named for the size of its shell-fish, so clearly this resource had an influence on the locationof the pä.

An 1844 illustration (Fig. 3) shows Nohorua with hisfamily at what the artist, George French Angas, described asa potato ground between Takapuwahia and Titahi Bay calledKahotea. The illustration is primarily a family portrait of aprominent Ngäti Toa leader, but the details are interesting:an important leader present in crop fields, the emergence ofnew produce types and a temporary whare (building).

With the exception of Matai-taua Pä, which was primarilybuilt for battle, all the käinga and pä are recorded as having


at least small fields of crops, and a few had major areas undercultivation. The hills above Plimmerton (the site of modern-day Camborne) and Whitireia Peninsula were said to havemany root-crop gardens, the former area serving TaupoVillage, Turi Karewa and Motuhara, and Whitireia supply-ing Kaitawa and Paremata. Mana Island was occupied by

Europeans in the 1830s, who introduced many new speciesof plants as an early farm and gardens were established.

European influences in the late 1820s had already startedto alter settlement patterns throughout the Cook Straitregion. Te Rauparaha and other Ngäti Toa chiefs grantedwhalers rights to establish stations and other European


Fig. 3 Na Horua or Tom Street. Elder brother of Rauparaha. E Wai, his wife. Tuarua, or Kopai, his son. At Kahotea, near Porirua, 1844,hand-coloured lithograph. Artist George French Angas. Acquisition history unknown (Te Papa 1992-0035-710).

occupations in South Island’s Port Underwood area (Mitchell& Mitchell 2007: 26), and this was probably also true forPorirua, Kapiti and elsewhere.

Defence

Initially, until British warships altered the type of warfare

that was waged, pä on Mana Island had major defensive

capabilities, and Turi Karewa, Motukaraka and Matai-taua

were all built specifically for military defence. Had anything

changed in warfare since the arrival of the Europeans with

their muskets and cannon? Ballara argues that nothing had

changed in terms of style, but that the scale of warfare may

have altered. Inter-tribal warfare was not a new phenomenon

but rather an intensified continuation of behaviour prior

to the arrival of the musket (Les Groube quoted in Ballara

2003: 26).

Komanaga-rautawhiri is the most northern of several

headland pä stretching south to Makara and was once part

of Ngäti Ira’s strategic defence of the coast. Pukerua Pä

controlled access from the north into the Porirua basin via

the Taua Tapu track, with Turi Karewa at the other end.

Hongoeka appears to have consisted of both a käinga and a

fortified pä.

The end of päThe bulk of this article is concerned with why the Porirua

pä were created. But when and why individual pä were

abandoned is equally crucial. Some obvious reasons are

the depletion of resources – for example, the demise of

the Korohiwa whaling station and its effect on Komanga-

rautawhiri.

One cause for the abandonment of settlements that is

often underestimated was the introduction of European

diseases. Dieffenbach noted the presence of influenza in the

1840s, which was often fatal (Dieffenbach 1843: vol. II,

p. 14; Lange 1999: 19). The denser the population, the

more serious and rapidly transmitted were outbreaks of

disease. Mason Durie contended that as Mäori moved from

traditional pä to new styles of settlements based on trading,

whaling and missionaries, sanitation declined (Durie 1994:

35). Certainly, contemporary descriptions by Jerningham

Wakefield and others of settlements of this type all agree on

the lack of cleanliness (Wakefield 1845: vol. I, p. 220),

although standards will have varied from place to place

depending on the local chief and his European counterpart.

Another example is the movement of Te Rangihaeata and

his followers between 1843 and 1846. This is one of the cru-

cial factors that archaeologists need to pay particular attention

to: not that Te Rangihaeata was moving from place to place

as he was chased by a superior opposing military force, but

that he had followers who moved with him. As a leading

chief, he had an obligation to provide those he led with the

basic necessities of life, and that included a home in return for

their allegiance. So the archaeological record will show that

his three pä – Turi Karewa, Motukaraka and Matai-taua –

were almost concurrent but with no increase in the area’s

total population.

Mäori society at this time was based on chiefdoms and

personal mana – without rank and mana, you could not

found a pä or käinga. When chiefs moved, their followers

moved with them, and when those chiefs died, their

followers dispersed. This is the reason for the abandonment

of the pä at Pukerua Bay: its founding chief, Tungia, died.

Tungia’s daughter married the chief of Wainui Pä and,

according to the 1851 New Zealand Journal, his followers

moved to Takapuwahia to join Rawiri Puaha (‘Description

of the Port Nicholson district’ 1851).

Taupo Village was abandoned when, after his release in

1848, Te Rauparaha resettled at Otaki. Paremata Pä was

abandoned in the early 1840s, despite the continuation of

the nearby whaling station, when many Ngäti Toa moved

across Cook Strait to Cloudy Bay. The death, absence or

movement of leaders, resulting in the abandonment of these

pä, reaffirms the hypothesis that it was their leadership that

led to the construction of the pä in the first place.

Synopsis of major pä and käingaoccupied by Ngäti Toa (Fig. 4)

Pukerua Bay

There are remains of at least two pä at Pukerua Bay thatwere connected to Ngäti Toa. The first was called Waimapihiand was situated ‘on the cliff above the beach and just belowthe present railway station at Pukerua’ (Best 1901: 153).Carkeek placed it on the left bank of the Waimapihi Stream(Carkeek 1966: 6). The pä was captured by the Ngäpuhi/Ngäti Toa Amiowhenua taua in 1819–20, when it wasdefended by both Ngäti Ira and Muaüpoko warriors.According to some accounts (including Smith 1910: 303),one of the leading chiefs in this action was the Ngäti Toa


chief Tungia. An account by Watene Taungatara says thatthe pä was taken only after a false offer of a truce was made(Taungatara 1899: 7), a tale further elaborated on by Smith(1910: 303) and recorded by the Mäori Land Court: ‘Theland was obtained by the conquest by Te Rauparaha andTuwhare and it was taken possession of by Te Pehi hanging

a garment (he Kaka) on a post on the land’ (Mäori LandCourt 1892: 368).

In the 1830s, a section of Ngäti Toa moved to Pukerua

Bay, where they built a second pä, called Pukerua Pä:

‘The first people to occupy this land were Tungia, Nopera

Te Ngiha, Te Raupatu, Te Ngou, Tapuiora, Pango and Te

Teke. These people and their slaves were the persons who

first went on the land’ (Mäori Land Court 1892: 368). Te

Teke and Tungia were the elders of the party and used to

travel between the pä and Kapiti Island (Mäori Land Court

1892: 375).

Elsdon Best (1919: 69) states that the pä was on a terrace

on the northern side of the Waimapihi stream. The border

of the land to the north was between the rock outcrops of

Te Ana o Hau and Te Paripari

Following Tungia’s death, Pukerua Pä was abandoned –

the New Zealand Journal in 1851 records that the late chief ’s

followers left Pukerua to join Rawiri Puaha at Takapuwahia

(‘Description of the Port Nicholson district’ 1851). A statement that possibly conflicts with this account

comes from Ropata Hurumutu (sometimes spelled asHuruinutu), chief of the Wainui Pä and Tungia’s son-in-law.In evidence given to the Mäori Land Court (quoted inBallara 1990: 31), he stated that Te Hiko and the Ngäti Te Maunu hapü built a new pä at Pukerua following theBattle of Te Kuititanga in 1839. However, Oriwia (Tungia’sdaughter and wife of Hurumutu) said that the pä was builtfollowing the Battle of Haowhenua in c. 1834, and thatNgäti Haumia and Ngäti Te Maunu moved first from Kapitito Haowhenua and then on to Kenakena at Waikanae(Carkeek 1966: 39). There is some suggestion that Ngäti Toareturned to the Pukerua district at a later date, but not to thepä (Royal Commission 1905: 22). From 1848, the MäoriLand Court records the land as being leased to Europeansby Nopera, Ngahuka Tungia and Potete. In 1861, partswere sold by them under the authority they had from theirmätua (Mäori Land Court 1892: 376).

Both versions lend credence to the notion that theoccupation of the land at Pukerua was linked by conquest:either by Tungia taking the pä; or by Te Hiko, the son of TePehi, claiming the land with his garment after battle.


Fig. 4 Map of pä and käinga discussed (after HMS Acheron 1850).

Green Point

Onepoto

Pauatahanui Inlet

Porirua Harbour

Taupo Swamp

Titahi Bay

WhitireiaPeninsula

Aotea

Hongoeka

Kaitawa

Komanga-rautawhiri

Mana

Matai-taua

Motuhara

Motukaraka

Paremata

Pukerua

Takapuwahia

Turi Karewa/Taupo Pä Taupo

Village

HongoekaAccording to Mäori Land Court depositions made byMatene Te Whiwhi, Te Rangihaeata’s nephew, Hongoekawas given to Nohorua and the Ngäti Haumia hapü of NgätiToa by Te Rauparaha (quoted in Williams 2003: 6).

In November 1839, the missionary Octavius Hadfieldwas present while church services were held at Hongoeka(Roberts 1992: 54), and in 1843 a hui (meeting) betweengovernment officials and Ngäti Toa was held here, at which some 200 Ngäti Toa men were present, including TeRauparaha. When Te Rauparaha was seized from TaupoVillage in 1846, Hongoeka was also searched (Cowan 1983:121). In the 1850 chart produced during the HMS Acheronsurvey, Hongoeka is marked at Anchorage Bay as ‘Pah’(Fig. 1).

Today, Hongoeka remains an active marae, with a newmeeting house that was opened in 1997 (Hongoeka Marae1997: 10).

MotuharaMotuhara is a settlement whose origin pre-dates the arrivalof Ngäti Toa. Archaeological finds suggest that prior to theNgäti Toa occupation it was a small käinga with associatedurupä (burial ground), and it appears that it did not have animportant defensive function. James Cowan describes it asa ‘small beach settlement’ (Cowan 1983: 119), though whohis source for this description was is unknown. Althoughpermanently occupied, Motuhara appears to have been asmall käinga – considered almost an annexe to the larger päand käinga surrounding it. According to Matene Te Whiwhi(quoted in Ballara 1990: 20), the Ngäti Te Maunu hapüoccupied the settlement.

When Te Rauparaha was seized from Taupo Village in1846, Motuhara, along with Hongoeka, was also searched.And when Te Rauparaha was being taken to HMS Driver,he called out for help from Motuhara.

Te Kanira (also called Kanira Tuhi) had the officialcertificate of title to Motuhara. He died around 1875 andhis nearest relative, his niece Raiha Prosser (née Puaha),succeeded him in ownership (Mäori Land Court 1885: 28).

In the 1890s, Motuhara was still occupied by the old chiefTe Karehana Whakataki, who at that time was described asliving alone. Whakataki was Elsdon Best’s primary NgätiToa source in his researches (Best 1914). In 1894, Whakatakiis said to have been resident at Takapuwahia (Smith 1910:193). According to Best, Te Rauparaha’s canoe, Te Ahu a

Türanga, was still visible as it lay rotting at Motuhara in1909 (quoted in Smith 1910: 423).

Taupo Pä (Turi Karewa)Jerningham Wakefield records in early September 1843 thathe found 200 Mäori in a new village at Taupo Bay (Wakefield1845: vol. II, p. 426). Mäori Land Court records includeRawiri Puaha, Te Hiko and Hohepa Tamaihengia as thebuilders, but it is Te Rangihaeata with whom the pä is moststrongly associated and who occupied it until early 1846.

Of these other chiefs, Wi Parata in his Mäori Land Courtevidence said he stayed at Taupo Pä with Te Hiko and NgätiTe Maunu hapü until the death of Te Hiko in 1845 (MäoriLand Court 1890). It certainly seems Te Hiko was buried in the urupä behind the pä on Te Rangihaeata’s instructions.The grave was painted by John Gilfillan not long after; theimage was reproduced by Thomas Downes in his book OldWhanganui (Downes 1915: 111).

The 1843 Wairau Affray had a profound influence on lifeat Porirua. Not least, it led to the decision by Te Rangihaeatato move from Mana Island to the mainland at Taupo, alongwith several hundred of his followers. The majority left in 1846 to move to Motukaraka (see below), but some of Te Rangihaeata’s hapü remained at the pä until at least 1848.Above the pä, a wähi tapu (sacred place) was created andremains today as an urupä and native reserve. The placementof the pä was related not only to defence, but also broughtTe Rangihaeata closer to the paramount chief Te Rauparahaat Taupo Village.

Several European writers and painters, notably JohnGilfillan, George French Angas and Charles Gold, recordedTaupo Pä. These contemporary images depict a pä withextremely large palisades extending from the edge of theexposed rocky shore back to the bluff behind that containedthe wähi tapu. Other illustrations show a semi-subterraneanhouse, an elevated pätaka (food store) on a single large post,and the interior of a house with carved ridgepoles, all indi-cating a substantial occupation. However, no structures havebeen identified archaeologically, leaving some uncertainty asto the pä’s exact position and orientation (Stodart 2002: 32).

Taupo VillageIt is uncertain exactly what year Taupo Village was foundedbut it was between the years 1838 and 1841. Up until 1846,it was the main käinga of Te Rauparaha and therefore thecentre of Ngäti Toa influence. As a domestic käinga it was, at


least initially, unfortified. In Fig.5, Taupo Village, illustratedin 1843 by Samuel Brees, is shown as a käinga. The wähi tapuwhere Te Hiko would later be buried is in the foregroundabove the future pä of Turi Kawera. In the distance can beseen Paremata Whaling Station, alongside which ParemataPä was sited. The scene in Fig.6 was drawn by George AngasFrench two years after Brees’ image of the same settlement(and printed in 1847). By then Taupo was clearly palisaded,the fortifications probably added as the result of tension following the Wairau Affray in 1843 (Stodart 2002: 25).

In June 1843, Reverend Ironside recorded in his journalthat Rawiri Puaha took his followers from Cloudy Bay andPort Underwood in the South Island to Taupo (Ironside1839–43: June and July entries). Given that Puaha hadconverted to Christianity, it is no surprise that Taupo Villagebecame the centre for missionary work in the area. In 1845,Ironside and his fellow Wesleyan missionary James Watkinheld a major hui there, and in 1848 a chapel was erectedthere at the cost of £3 (Roberts 1992: 61).

It was from this site that British troops and the ArmedConstabulary, acting under the orders of Governor Grey,

seized Te Rauparaha in June 1846. After this event the village

gradually lost its pre-eminence to the käinga of Takapuwahia

and Te Uru Kohika, perhaps as a result of Te Rauparaha’s

decision to retire to Otaki in 1848. An 1850 survey showed

the village as abandoned (Roberts 1992: 79).

Paremata

The pä at Paremata Point was at the water’s edge, with a fish

fence-trap set up on the foreshore and gardens close by.

Although palisaded, Paremata was a käinga rather than a

defensive pä. The date the village was founded was close to

that of the nearby shore-based whaling station, although it

is not clear which came first (Wakefield 1845: vol. I, p.220).

The cousins Te Rakaherea and Te Kanawa were the chiefs of

the Ngäti Te Ra hapü at Paremata according to evidence

given by Matene Te Whiwhi to the Mäori Land Court

(quoted in Ballara 1990: 20).

Joseph Thoms came to Cook Strait to hunt whales; he

established a shore whaling station at Paremata in 1835–36,

becoming the first European to settle permanently in the


Fig.5 Porirua Harbour and Parramatta whaling station in Nov.r 1843, 1843, hand-coloured lithograph. Artist Samuel Brees (PUBL-0011-12, Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington).

area. With a mixture of Päkehä and Ngäti Toa whalers,Thoms hunted the slow right whales that migrated throughCook Strait and past Porirua every year. One of thesewhalers was Te Ua Torikiriki, daughter of Nohorua. Thomsmarried Te Ua in c. 1830 and thus linked himself to NgätiToa (Wakefield 1845: vol. I, p.46; Millar 1971: 70; Boulton1990). Some time after 1844, following the death of Te Ua,Thoms moved permanently over to his Te Awaiti whalingstation in the Marlborough Sounds. It seems likely that atthis time, with the whaling station at Paremata no longeractive, the nearby pä was abandoned.

In 1846, the British Army occupied Paremata and builtstone barracks there. Although no mention is made of the pä, the government surveyor Thomas Fitzgerald didmark on his plan of the barracks in 1848 two ‘old post ofnative pa of totara’ (Fitzgerald 1848). This complementsan earlier map by Fitzgerald showing Joseph Thoms’ claim,in which the general area of the ‘Parhamatta Pah’ is indicated(Fitzgerald 1843).

KaitawaIn 1841, there was a small Ngäti Toa settlement called

Kaitawa at the outer entrance to Porirua Harbour and a

defended knoll above the bay. The defended position was

formed at the end of a spur, with cliffs on three sides and

palisades on the fourth; the postholes of three of the palisade

posts can still be found.

It seems that only the käinga was occupied by Ngäti

Toa and that the fortified spur was either predominately or

entirely of an earlier occupation. Jerningham Wakefield spent

a night in a village below the pä in 1839, but named it

Waitawa rather than Kaitawa (Wakefield 1845: vol. I, p.220).

Some printed versions of the 1850 HMS Acheron chart

(e.g. the copy in Porirua Library) name Kaitawa and indicate

structures on the hill and below it on the beachfront. The

Whitireia Peninsula was the site of extensive gardening,

which contributed to the wealth of food already available

from nearby forests. Like many small käinga, Kaitawa


Fig.6 Taupo Pa, 1847, hand-coloured lithograph. Artist George French Angas, lithographer J.W. Giles (PUBL-0014-48, AlexanderTurnbull Library, Wellington).

appears to have been abandoned gradually in the 1840s. In1848, the Whitireia Peninsula was granted to the AnglicanChurch by Ngäti Toa in 1848; by this time, Kaitawa wasalmost certainly abandoned.

Komanga-rautawhiri

As related above, Angela Ballara states that in the early nine-

teenth century Komanga was the home of the leading chiefly

family of Ngäti Ira, although this presumes that Omanga-

rau-tawhiri and Komanga-rautawhiri are one and the same.

The location, about 2km west of Titahi Bay at Green Point,

would support this (Ballara 1990: 422). Follow ing the Battle

of Haowhenua in c. 1834, Mitikakau of the Ngäti Maru

hapü of Te Ati Awa moved with his people from Komanga to

Whareroa, north of Paekakariki (Carkeek 1966: 42), but the

date they had originally settled at Komanga is not recorded.

Komanga was still occupied when the nearby whaling

station of Korohiwa was in operation, and this station was

probably established in 1836 under William Thomas. The

missionary Henry Williams landed at the whaling station

and pä in 1839 and named Te Rangitakaroro as its chief

(Best 1914). He was the brother of the Ngäti Tama chief

Te Puoho, a firm ally of Te Rauparaha. Te Puoho had led a

section of Ngäti Tama in the heke that headed south from

Taranaki to the Cook Strait region in 1822.

The 1850 HMS Acheron chart shows Komanga as ‘Bridge

Pah’ (Fig. 1). In the same year, Native Secretary Henry

Tacy Kemp describes the inhabitants as ‘few’, saying that they

were continually on the move and that their cultivations

intermixed with those of Ngäti Toa at Porirua and Nelson

(quoted in Fordyce & MacLehn 2000: 15). By 1851,

Komanga was listed as having a resident population of

45. In 1880, there was one last kuia (elderly woman) living

there, and by 1905 rotting palisades were all that was left

standing (Best 1914).

Takapuwahia

According to Percy Smith, Takapuwahia is named after a

place at Kawhia Harbour (Smith 1910: 337). Elsdon Best

seems to suggest that there was a settlement here prior to the

arrival of Ngäti Toa, although his phrasing is ambiguous and

he gives no evidence or reference to support this claim (Best

1914). The missionary James Watkin was at Takapuwahia

in July 1845, according to his journal (Chambers 1982:

162), and while he was there he spoke with Te Rangihaeata.

In 1851, the village of Takapuwahia had a population of 252, who had moved there from the pä at Taupo andPukerua after they were abandoned. Besides houses,Takapuwahia Pä had two reed chapels, and a flour millpowered by water from the stream was under construction.Intensive farming of 80 acres (30 ha) included crops ofpotatoes, maize and kümera (‘Description of the PortNicholson district’ 1851: 314).

A few years later, in 1889, the other pä in central Porirua,Te Uru Kohika (founded after 1852), was abandoned andTakapuwahia became the undisputed primary home of NgätiToa. In 1901, the meeting house Toa Rangatira was openedat the settlement, its name taken from that of the foundingancestor of Ngäti Toa. In 1910, a school was built alongsideand was used for church services as well as education.

Today, the streets around the marae are named forprominent leaders of Ngäti Toa, including Nohorua, TeHiko and Puaha. This reflects the fact that Takapuwahia isan old pä around which the city of Porirua has grown up,rather than a new marae built within a growing city. It is alsonoteworthy that Raiha Prosser (daughter of Rawiri Puaha)stated in 1905 that the inhabitants of the pä at Porirua wereall of the same hapü (Royal Commission 1905: 11).

MotukarakaOccupied by Ngäti Ira prior to Ngäti Toa’s arrival,Motukaraka Pä, in the Pauatahanui Inlet, was home to the Ngäti Te Ra hapü of Ngäti Toa by 1845. In 1846, TeRangihaeata briefly resided here after abandoning TuriKarewa at Taupo and before establishing Matai-taua (Best1914; Healy 1980: 15).

Matai-tauaThe spot now occupied by St Alban’s Church at Pauatahanuiwas formerly the site of a pä built by Te Rangihaeata in 1846(McKillop 1849: 183; Cowan 1983: 123). Placed on a ridgerunning into the eastern arm of the Pauatahanui Inlet, the päwas protected on three sides by a stream and a swamp, andwas entirely surrounded by a palisade. Covered gun pits werean added innovation, making this a true gunfighter pä. Fromhere, several war parties were dispatched – notably toBoulcott’s Farm in the Hutt Valley in May 1846 and to skirmishes on the Pauatahanui Inlet.

On 1 August 1846, a mixed force of native allies, regularBritish Army soldiers and local militia were sent to attackMatai-taua. Troops were also dispatched from Paremata,but both forces found Matai-taua empty (Power 1849: 18).


Mana IslandFrom the early 1830s, following Ngäti Toa’s defeat of

Ngäi Tahu and up until the mid-1840s, the chief and

master carver Te Rangihaeata chose Mana Island as his main

base. His house there, named Kaitangata, was recorded by

the artist George French Angas in a painting in 1844 as

well as in his journal, published three years later (Angas

1966: pl. 4; 1847: vol I, p. 265). By that time, however, Te

Rangihaeata had left the island and only a few members of

the iwi were left in residence.

In 1832, three Europeans – Alexander Davidson,

Archibald Mossman and John Bell – paid Te Rangihaeata,

Te Rauparaha and Nohorua (the three Ngäti Toa leaders

connected to Mana) goods to the value of £24. What the

goods were for is disputed: Ngäti Toa said it was rent; the

Europeans said it was for a land purchase (Carkeek 1966:

64). From that time on, Mana became the haunt of whalers,

traders and other Europeans. However, Te Rangihaeata

continued to live there, as stated by James Crawford, who

records him on the island in late 1839 with the whalers

Alexander and Thomas Fraser (Crawford 1880: 26).

Te Rangihaeata abandoned Mana Island altogether in

August 1843 following the Wairau Affray, when he moved

to Turi Karewa at Taupo Bay.

Concluding discussion The timeframe of this case study, in the era frequently

referred to as post-contact, might cause some to consider it

as irrelevant to earlier Mäori settlement patterns. Certainly,

all the sites excavated have contained portable European

goods. The argument of ‘Fatal Impact’, as archaeologist Stuart

Bedford (1996: 413) calls it, whereupon once Europeans

arrived all of Mäori society changed, is simplistic. Bedford

puts forward compelling arguments that change in society

was neither complete nor rapid. Mäori agriculture, for exam-

ple, remained traditional in nature despite the introduction

of new crops and tools. Quoting Roger Green, Bedford

makes the argument that the end of any ‘classic phase’ was

not at the first introduction of European culture, but at the

later point when that culture became dominant (Bedford

1996: 421), and that the transformation was incremental

rather than abrupt.

Clearly this was the case in the Porirua basin from the

time of Ngäti Toa’s arrival. Yes, Ngäti Toa brought European

goods with them and selected the region at least partly on

its perceived trading opportunities. However, it was NgätiToa’s decision to settle there and that decision was madewithin the framework of traditional Mäori society based onresources and pressure from other Waikato iwi. That someof those resources were European and the Waikato pressurewas exacerbated by the introduction of muskets is not, Iwould argue, overwhelming in terms of instituting a changein Mäori society. That change began in the late 1840sfollowing the establishment of European society as thepolitically dominant influence.

The impact of European contact from the 1830s did havean effect on the distribution of pä and käinga. Cultivation of gardens and flax was increased to provide for whalers andtraders, and this, coupled with the supply of labour to shore-based whaling ventures, helped determine the location ofsites such as Korohiwa and Paremata. It is difficult to know, however, if European contact also had an effect onthe number of pä built.

One of the real questions about the spate of pä buildingin Porirua is, was this normal? It is likely that theconstruction pattern may well be normal if we think of päbuilding as similar to the model for punctuated equilibrium.An iwi moves into a new geographical area and over a shortperiod of time expands into a variety of new groups (withaccompanying settlements) until the area is saturated. Thena period of relative stability follows, until a new factoremerges. During this period of stability, it may be possiblethat the number of settlements decreases even if thepopulation does not. The fact that iwi may, like Ngäti Toa,be expanding into an area already settled is not as importantas the factor that they are expanding into an area that is newto them.

As leaders rise and fall, so the resulting dynamics lead tothe ebb and flow of population movement within the area.Because these migrating individuals come from withinrelated iwi (primarily the intertwined Ngäti Toa and NgätiRaukawa), there is little physical conflict. And it is for thisvery reason that new pä are created; if there was conflict, wemight see challenges for existing places. It is only towards theend of the period discussed here that we see the continuedutilisation of a pä after its primary founders have died. Thismay be because there are no new areas available, or it mightbe a normal reaction to external pressures that mean the iwiand hapü remain together for strength.

Is this fluctuating emergence and disappearance ofdiffering leaders and pä a manifestation of what anthro -pologist Patrick Kirch calls ‘an inherently unstable and


oscillating social formation’ (Kirch 2000: 283)? It certainlyseems that an oscillating pattern occurred in Porirua over the100-year period between 1800 to 1900, with peaks of NgätiIra, Ngäti Toa and European incursions, and troughs ofwar, disease and population displacement in between.However, Kirch argues that population size is the ultimatecause behind cultural change, leading to cultural controlsthat result in variations (Kirch 2000: 309–310). On theother hand, it could be argued that the cultural variationsthemselves are the cause of population fluctuations.

The ability to attract followers relies not only on personalcharisma but also on the fundamental basis of a leader’sability to provide for their followers and to exert power in amilitary manner. Both of these abilities are heightened whenthe leader is able to demonstrate a ‘natural’ right to leader -ship through hereditary status or another form of mana. TeRauparaha is a classic example of a leader who demonstratedthat he had all three requirements on a national scale. Most,if not all, of the other leaders listed here could also qualifyon a smaller, more local scale.

Te Rauparaha’s constant attention to the hapü of NgätiToa and the iwi’s allies are a glimpse into the efforts requiredto hold together a group of followers. This process was alsohappening simultaneously with every lesser chief. Theirsuccesses and failures can be measured in the käinga and päof Porirua. Essentially there are a lot of pä in Porirua becauseeach is a physical expression of an individual’s ability toform a group of followers, break from their existing situationand create a new living space, and yet at the same timeremain within the tribal territory.

Rapid development and discarding of individual pä hasrepercussions for our approach to the analysis of sitedistribution. As an example, one of the more significantattempts in this field was carried out by archaeologistGeoffrey Irwin in 1985 when he published a study of pä atPouto Point in Kaipara Harbour. In it he suggested that 12pä in the study were occupied contemporaneously between1650 and 1800. If the examples at Porirua can be held to betrue for other parts of the country, we have to revise ourthoughts on exactly what we mean by contemporary. Notonly do the pä have to fall within the same date range, buthopefully they will also exhibit evidence of a long enoughoccupation span to overlap with the other pä.

The evidence from Porirua would suggest that a muchtighter dating regime is needed if accurate conclusions are to be made. The 150-year time period covered by the pä at Pouto might equate to four or even five generations,

meaning that they could still have been occupied insuccession rather than contemporaneously.

The significance of contemporary versus successiveoccupation impacts heavily on the theory of spheres ofinfluence and dominance. Additionally, it affects the amountof area available in which resources can be gathered for each pä. In real terms, the impact may be only on the specificexample rather than on the theory itself, but it does onceagain highlight the importance of temporal relationshipsbetween sites.

Archaeologists have concentrated almost exclusively onthe physical resources associated with pä and käinga, and at times have wondered why some pä and käinga wereabandoned for no clear reason. In the 30 years between1820 and 1850, many pä and käinga were built, occupiedand then abandoned within the Porirua basin. The reasonswhy this happened gives us some important insights. Bylooking into the social structures of the time and regardingthese sites as physical manifestations of social actions, we cancome to a better understanding of why there were so manysettlement sites at Porirua and speculate if these reasons canbe extrapolated to a wider New Zealand context.

The implications that can be drawn from the results are important in understanding the social and culturalaspects of tribal leadership amongst Ngäti Toa of this periodand, by inference, Mäori in general. These implications are also important in terms of our interpretation of thearchaeological record of site distribution, particularly of pä,for New Zealand as a whole.

AcknowledgementsAn earlier version of this paper was presented verbally to the Archaeology Section, Wellington Branch, RoyalSociety of New Zealand. As a result, many useful comments and questions were raised and are now incorpo-rated into this version, and for that I wish to thank theparticipating audience.

I also wish to thank Miria Pomare and Susan Forbes forreading drafts of this paper and encouraging me to finish it.

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IntroductionDuring his tenure as ethnologist (1919–57) and, later,

director of Otago Museum, Henry Devenish Skinner

(usually referred to as H.D.Skinner; Fig.1) built a collection

of at least 958 objects from the Cook Islands. Most of these

objects came from individuals involved in the colonial

infrastructure of the islands. The mechanics of Skinner’s

collecting relationships are interesting in that they show

that this collection was not acquired passively, but was

developed as the result of a clearly defined plan, carried out

by Skinner over four decades.It should be noted here that many Cook Islands objects

made their way into Otago Museum’s collections by meansother than Skinner’s connections in the colonial adminis -tration. Through purchases from auction houses and private

individuals, exchanges with museums, private donations and,significantly, the purchase by the New Zealand governmentof the Oldman collection in 1948, Otago Museum’s CookIslands collection grew to be the largest in New Zealand.

Why Skinner collectedWhen Skinner was appointed assistant curator in 1919, theOtago Museum had one collection item from the CookIslands: a paddle from Rarotonga donated in 1903. Skinner’sresearch in Britain during the First World War into Mäoriand Polynesian material culture made him acutely aware of what had been available to European ethnographiccollectors in the Pacific, including the Cook Islands. Mostof the collections he studied in Britain at that time had been assembled as early as the late eighteenth century and


H.D.Skinner’s use of associates within the colonial administrative structure of the

Cook Islands in the development of Otago Museum’s Cook Islands collections

Ian WardsNational Military Heritage Charitable Trust, PO Box 6512, Marion Square, Wellington, New Zealand

([email protected])

ABSTRACT: During his tenure at Otago Museum (1919–57), H.D.Skinner assembled thelargest Cook Islands collection of any museum in New Zealand. This paper shows that NewZealand’s colonial administrative structure was pivotal in the development of thesecollections, but that they were also the result of complex human interactions, motivationsand emotions.

Through an analysis of Skinner’s written correspondence, examples are discussed thatshow his ability to establish relationships where objects were donated as expressions ofpersonal friendship to Otago Museum. The structure of the resulting collection is alsoexamined. This draws out Skinner’s personal interest in typological study of adzes andobjects made of stone and bone, but also highlights the increasing scarcity of traditionalmaterial culture in the Cook Islands by the mid-twentieth century, due in part to theactivities of other collectors and museums.

KEYWORDS: H.D.Skinner, Otago Museum, Cook Islands, colonialism, material culture.

H.D. Skinner’s use of associates in the development of Otago Museum’s Cook Islands collections 21

included textiles and staff gods, which had long since ceasedbeing produced in the Pacific Islands (see H.D. Skinner to Buck, 23 October 1936). As Table 1 shows, even incomparison to other New Zealand museums, the OtagoMuseum was late in establishing its ethnographic collections(Livingstone 1998: 19–25).

This delay in acquiring ethnographic objects gave Skinnera sense of urgency, built on a belief that pre-EuropeanPolynesian material culture would soon disappear from themarket. In a public lecture delivered in 1920, Skinnerdisplayed this view and his own interest in material culturestudies: ‘[E]thnology is the most important of all thecomponent sections of anthropology … This will certainlynot be the case, however, in a century’s time. What factoris it, then, that gives this temporary precedence over allother branches of anthropology? It is the fact that the dataof ethnology are vanishing data’ (Skinner 1920).

In an address given at the end of his directorship in1957, Skinner reflected on the priorities he and Willi Fels

(Otago Museum’s most significant benefactor) had madein their Pacific collecting:

What, you may ask, was the plan? The making of the planbegan on the day of my appointment, and was forged innever-ending discussions with Willi Fels, our greatestbenefactor. There were two preliminary requirements: 1.Quality in material purchased. 2. Careful costing.

The general principles followed were to secure in thefirst place Maori and Moriori material with scrupulousattention to locality. Next came Polynesian material,followed by Melanesian and other Oceanic material. (H.D.Skinner 1957)

Skinner’s collecting priorities radiated out from NewZealand. From his research perspective, the comparativeanalysis of Pacific material culture could be used todetermine the migration routes of the Polynesian peoples.This research could be practically undertaken only in amuseum environment, where objects of similar form – butfrom a variety of locations – could be studied in one placein an attempt to determine their morphological relationshipsand significance (Freeman 1959).

Adzes and other stone implements were ‘the mostimportant class of evidence relating to Polynesian origins, forfrom many islands in the Pacific they are almost the onlyevidence we have’ (H.D. Skinner 1924: 30). Of the 958Cook Islands objects accessioned into the Otago Museum’scollections during Skinner’s tenure, 358 were adzes.

Skinner was also lecturer in anthropology at theUniversity of Otago. His goal was to develop OtagoMuseum’s collections to provide a global sweep of materialculture for his students to study, while also providing objectsfor his own comparative studies.

Fig. 1 H.D. Skinner in 1928 (neg. sheet 209, HockenCollections, Dunedin).

Table 1 A comparison of Cook Islands objects held in thecollections of the four main museums in New Zealand beforeand at the end of Skinner’s tenure at Otago Museum.

Pre-1919 1957

Auckland War Memorial Museum, 165 420Auckland

Dominion Museum (now Te Papa), 230 279Wellington

Canterbury Museum, Christchurch 13 117

Otago Museum, Dunedin 1 958


How Skinner collectedIn developing Otago Museum’s collections, Skinner wasable to draw on the Fels Fund, established by Willi Fels in1920. Of the 958 Cook Islands objects collected duringSkinner’s tenure, 356 are noted in the museum’s registers ashaving been purchased through the Fels Fund.

In general, Skinner’s ability to purchase objects, ratherthan having to rely solely on donations, allowed him greatercontrol over the types and quality of objects coming into themuseum. In particular, he considered his ability to purchasecollections to be the most significant factor in the develop-ment of the museum’s collections (H.D.Skinner 1951: 9).The purchasing process was undertaken in close discussionwith Fels, with whom Skinner shared a vision for developingthe museum’s collections. They also shared an ambition tobring high-quality and representative collections fromthroughout the Pacific and the world to Dunedin.

One factor in particular was significant in fosteringdonations to the Otago Museum. This was Skinner’spersonal ability to inspire others with his own passion. In atestimonial written in 1924 as part of Skinner’s applicationfor the position of curator at the Auckland Museum, OtagoMuseum’s then curator William Benham wrote: ‘Mr Skinnerhas a charm of manner that almost compels people whoown a collection to present it to the museum when heapproaches them about it’ (Benham 1924).

Richard Skinner also considered that his father’spersonality was pivotal:

Dad’s personality, it was an electric personality. I thinkthat if you talked with him, you became … I won’t say youbecame a collector, but you became extraordinarilyinterested in what he was doing. And if the opportunityarose, because you happened to be in Egypt or somethinglike that, or doing other work, but at the same time you’dthink, ‘By Jove, Skinner would have appreciated thisopportunity’. (H.R.W. Skinner, interview with author, 2 September 2006)

Alongside H.D. Skinner’s ‘electric personality’, RichardSkinner also emphasised his father’s ability to draw influ -ential and wealthy members of the Dunedin communityinto active involvement with Otago Museum through thenumerous dinner parties held at ‘Rustat’, the Skinner familyhome: ‘There were countless dinner parties at Rustat atwhich different people were the invited guests, and theywould find themselves arriving and by the time they left they were museum enthusiasts’ (H.R.W.Skinner, interviewwith author, 25 July 2006).

J.D.Freeman, himself a former student of Skinner’s whoaided the donation of several Cook Islands objects to themuseum in the early 1940s, believes that through the ‘sheerexample of his enthusiasm’ Skinner ‘directed towards theMuseum the civic pride of the merchants who had estab-lished in Dunedin business houses of national scope’(Freeman 1959: 19).

Skinner’s social networks – the Cook Islands administration

Skinner’s ability to enthuse others with his vision led to the development of long-standing collecting relationshipswith individuals involved in New Zealand’s Cook Islandscolonial administration. Most of Skinner’s relationshipswere developed or maintained through written correspon -dence, as he had few opportunities to undertake fieldworkhimself owing to his teaching obligations and logistical orfunding restraints.

New Zealand administered the Cook Islands after itsannexation from Britain in 1901, with all subsequentgovernance directed from Wellington until independence in 1965. The colonial administrative structure was headedby a resident commissioner, with resident agents in chargeof local administration on the various islands within thegroup. School teachers and medical officers were alsoprovided by the New Zealand government during thisperiod (Scott 1991).

Collecting through residentcommissioners

The first two collecting relationships discussed here relate totwo individuals who successively held the most senior rolein the Cook Islands: that of resident commissioner. Personalfriendship and a sense of obligation were the drivingelements behind these donations.

F.W. PlattsF.W.Platts was resident commissioner in the Cook Islandsfrom 1915 to 1920. Prior to his appointment, Platts hadpractised as a lawyer in Dunedin, also spending one term asmayor of Port Chalmers (Scott 1991: 156). Skinner andPlatts were obviously acquainted, as Platts wrote near theend of his tenure that he was ‘getting together a few thingsfor the museum’ and that he would ‘call upon’ Skinner when


he arrived back in Dunedin (Platts to H.D. Skinner, 25 October 1920). With the arrival of 22 objects in 1921,ranging from fans to paddles, Skinner proclaimed that Platts had ‘laid the foundation not only of our Cook Islands collection but of our whole Polynesian collection’(H.D.Skinner to Platts, 16 May 1921).

Hugh Ayson

While studying law at Victoria University between 1906

and 1909, Skinner had met and befriended fellow lawstudent Hugh Ayson (H.R.W. Skinner, interview withauthor, 13 July 2007). Ayson went on to become residentcommissioner of the Cook Islands between 1922 and 1943(Crocombe 2006).

Ayson donated 10 Cook Islands objects to OtagoMuseum: two in 1933 and eight in 1934. Skinner wrote thatthe two adzes donated in 1933 were actually given to MajorFred Waite MP by Ayson, and were handed over to OtagoMuseum by Waite only ‘after some discussion and very evident regret’. Skinner had needed to convinced Waite thatthe adzes, ‘were safer and also of greater use to students in ourgalleries than in a private house. I therefore entered them asyour gift’ (H.D.Skinner to Ayson, 12 December 1932).

In his letter to Ayson, Skinner continued by saying thatthe museum’s Cook Islands collection was now ‘fairly large’and ‘one of the most important in existence’, but, ‘I very

much hope that you will be able to help us further indeveloping our Cook Islands section – we would certainlyappreciate any help you can give’. Skinner comments that he was reading a draft of Felix Keesing’s Modern Samoa: its government and changing life (1934), adding, ‘Theadministration of the Cook Islands is referred to occasionallyin very appreciative terms’.

Skinner’s opportunism bore fruit the following year withthe arrival of a consignment of the eight Cook Islands objects(mainly fans; Fig. 2) from Ayson.

Skinner must have been encouraged when Aysonsuggested that he would try to get a double canoe for him(Ayson to H.D.Skinner, 30 January 1933), as he later wroteto Ayson stating that Otago Museum would be happy to‘supply the timber for a boat, or whatever else you consideradequate return for the double canoe’ (H.D. Skinner toAyson, 12 December 1934). Raising this request withanother correspondent, Skinner wondered whether his offer of timber would ‘touch [Ayson’s] conscience’(H.D. Skinner to D. Low, 1934). Unfortunately, Ayson was unable to acquire a canoe as he found it was ‘not an easymatter to get the people to part with them’ (Ayson toH.D.Skinner, 28 November 1934).

Ayson also facilitated Skinner’s brief collecting episode inRarotonga in 1931. Although much of Otago Museum’scollections were built as a result of purchases or donationsarranged via written correspondence, Skinner took any

Fig. 2 A fan from Manihiki, presented to Otago Museum by resident commissioner Hugh Ayson in 1933 (D34.957, OtagoMuseum, Dunedin).


opportunity to add to them directly. While on the returnjourney to New Zealand from Tahiti after several monthsspent working in the Society Islands with staff fromHonolulu’s Bishop Museum, Skinner and his family stoppedfor the day in Rarotonga (H.D.Skinner to Trenn, 4 May1937) and Ayson invited them to go for a tour around theisland. Richard Skinner recalls:

And Dad, of course, he took to this like lightning. And sowe got into the car and so we drove around. But he had themost amazing 45˚ vision, or 90˚ vision I suppose. Hecould be watching the road ahead, but at the same time,if you passed anything on either side of the road thatlooked interesting, he would signal the driver to eitherslow down or stop. And he’d leap out of the car and go andinvestigate what he’d seen. I mean the average personwould not have picked any of this stuff up. But he pickedup quite a few bits and pieces.

And if the fellow wanted to bargain, he’d bargain withhim. And Dad was a pretty good bargainer [laughs]. He’dbargain with them and he normally won. But, however,that was how we spent the day. (H.R.W.Skinner, interviewwith author, 13 July 2007)

Collecting through residentagents

Lionel Trenn

Lionel Trenn worked for Union Steam Ship Company as aradio operator on a number of cargo ships operating betweenNew Zealand and central Polynesia in the late 1920s to

mid-1930s (Anonymous 1936), before being appointedresident agent on Manihiki and, later, Mangaia in the CookIslands.

It seems likely that Skinner made Trenn’s acquaintance in1930 or 1931 while the former was in Tahiti. Aside fromsourcing and donating Cook Islands objects, Trenn playeda significant role in shipping many items free of charge tothe Otago Museum.

Trenn sent five spears and paddles to Skinner in 1936.This was in gratitude to Skinner, who had been ‘one of theprime movers’ in securing Trenn the resident agent’s positionon Manihiki, which he held from the beginning of 1937.Trenn hoped that Skinner would be ‘prepared to be [his]advisor and instructor in amateur anthropological research’ (Trenn to H.D. Skinner, 28 September 1936).Trenn donated 54 objects from Manihiki during his tenureon the island (Fig. 3).

Skinner purchased a much-coveted shell adze from

Manihiki through Trenn. The adze and several other objects

were paid for with clothing and books. Trenn had suggested

this form of payment because Manihiki Islanders were very

poor during this period as a result of the decline in returns

for copra and pearl shell, and so Skinner promised to send

some literature and second-hand clothing for the adze

(H.D.Skinner to Trenn, 8 November 1937). The following

year, Trenn wrote: ‘The man who gave me the adze, and the

one who gave me the other things were really overjoyed’ at

the receipt of the clothing. Trenn described utilitarian items

such as clothing as being like ‘luxuries’ at the time on

Manihiki Island (Trenn to H.D.Skinner, 4 February 1938).

Near the end of Trenn’s first year as resident agent on

Manihiki, Skinner had written:

I was writing to [Peter] Buck two or three days ago, andwas able to tell him we have now almost enough Manihikimaterial to make a separate collection. This does not meanthat we are satisfied: far from it. The reverse in fact. As Ithink you know I am especially keen on adzes, and it waswith the deepest regret that I read Buck’s account of howthe three known adzes in stone from your island havegone to the Bishop Museum. If you can lay your hands onstone or shell adzes you will put me everlastingly in yourdebt. (H.D. Skinner to Trenn, 8 November 1937)

Here Skinner not only shows his penchant for adzes, but also

his competitive nature when trying to acquire objects ahead

of other ethnologists.

Trenn also donated four objects from Rakahanga Island

in 1943. Trenn was in a position to acquire these objects

because the jurisdiction of his position covered both

Manihiki and Rakahanga (Anonymous 1936).

In 1939, Skinner had paid Trenn for a wooden bowl from

Pukapuka and a coconut grater from Tongareva (Penrhyn)

(H.D.Skinner to Mr Chapman, 21 June 1939). Skinner had

earlier asked Trenn to find these objects for the Otago

Museum (H.D.Skinner to Trenn, 4 May 1937), but Trenn

had replied that this could be difficult: ‘[B]ecause they are still

useful household articles … I will have to pay a few shillings

for them. From where I’m writing this letter I can see a

fine semi-oval legless bowl … It is in such continual use

that I doubt whether I could swap a good enamel basin

for it’ (Trenn to H.D. Skinner, 4 February 1938). Later

that year, Skinner wrote offering £1, suggesting this would

‘cover the cost of a good enamel bowl’ (H.D. Skinner to

Trenn, 20 May 1938).


Upon reading of Trenn’s transfer to Mangaia, Skinnerwrote: ‘We have had so much from you and I am hesitantto ask for more. Still, greed is powerful, and I am hopingthat you may be able to send us material from Mangaia’(H.D.Skinner to Trenn, 3 November 1942). Skinner thengoes on to list the objects he desires from Mangaia, startingwith adzes, but also suggesting ‘gimlets of all sizes, chisels,saws … half-made adzes showing the process of chippingand flaking would be welcome’.

The success Skinner felt regarding his collecting rela-tionship with Trenn can be gauged in a letter he wrote toSteven Savage, a former resident agent in the Cook Islands,in which he says: ‘Through the help of Trenn we have secureda representative collection from Manihiki, and I am hopinghe may help us still further now that he has moved down toMangaia’ (H.D.Skinner to Savage, 22 December 1942).

Despite Skinner’s hopes, Trenn donated no Mangaianobjects, even though he wrote that he had ‘got the policekeeping an eye out for stone implements and have toldmany officers, but so far nothing has come along’ (Trenn toH.D.Skinner, 20 November 1944). There are three reasonsfor the lack of Mangaian donations from Trenn, and, infact, for the lack of donations from Trenn altogether after the mid-1940s. First, his role on Mangaia kept him busy,with little time for ethnographic pursuits. Second, by themid-1940s Trenn was married with a young daughter andfamily life occupied much of his spare time (Trenn to

H.D.Skinner, 4 December 1945). And third, in 1947 Trenn

left Mangaia to take up the position of registrar at the High

Court in Rarotonga (Anonymous 1947). This new position

in the centre of the administration appears to have curtailed

any further opportunities for him to assemble objects for

Otago Museum.

W.A. AllisonIn the late 1940s, Skinner engaged in a collecting relationship

with the resident agent of Atiu, W.A.Allison. Skinner had

met Allison at Otago Museum through Gordon Anderson,

the museum’s first education officer (Allison to H.D.Skinner,

6 October 1947).

In another instance of Skinner encouraging the ethno -

graphic pursuits of one of his field collectors, Allison wrote

to Skinner with notes he had compiled, at Skinner’s

suggestion, of string games played on Atiu (Allison to

H.D.Skinner, 6 October 1947). Allison remarked: ‘I have

not forgotten your request for certain native artefacts’. It can

be argued that through mediating between his field

collectors and the editors of the Journal of the Polynesian

Society, Skinner created a subtle form of obligation from his

collectors to repay the favour through the sale or donation

of objects to Otago Museum.

In 1949, Allison sent 12 adzes to Otago Museum,

accompanied by a letter in which he wrote, apologetically:

Fig. 3 A fishhook from Manihiki, presented by Lionel Trenn in 1937 (D38.291, Otago Museum, Dunedin).


Unfortunately when some of the owners heard that I wasbuying these adzes they began to sharpen them on thegrind stone which marks you will probably see : othersagain come in coated with oil , and I believe some havebeen rubbed with a preparation made from candle nutwhich is supposed to blacken the stone : some are in theraw state and I presume that is the way in which youprefer : The actions of the owners are quite understandablebecause they thought that a sharpened and polished axe oradze would realise a greater payment. (Allison toH.D. Skinner, 2 August 1948)

In his next letter, Allison mentions that he held little hope offinding ‘rimers, needles etc’ from other islands as ‘theAmericans during the “occupation” cleaned out all the stoneand wooden artefacts of Aitutaki’, although he was still ‘get-ting quite a thrill out of collecting’ (Allison to H.D.Skinner,16 August 1948).

Skinner was obviously thrilled by this outcome as well.His eagerness is evident in the extensive requests of hisfollowing letter:

As regards ethnographic material from Atiu, we should bedelighted to receive whatever you collect. Would it bepossible to secure any of the coir head dresses that wereused in fighting in ancient times? The wood weaponswould be long ago either collected or destroyed exceptsuch as may be found occasionally in old taro swamps. Any wooden material from such swamps would be of greatvalue. Wooden bowls or food dishes would be of great value. I ought to have said at the beginning that wewould be glad to pay such prices as you think reasonable.I myself am specially interested in stone implements, notonly adzes, though of course these would be welcome, butalso food pounders and such long forgotten implements asgimlets, rimers, scrapers and saws. (H.D. Skinner toAllison, 1 December 1948)

In 1951, Allison left Atiu to take up the temporary positionof headmaster at Avarua School in Rarotonga (‘Cook Islandsappointments’ 1955). Skinner wrote to Allison suggesting,‘When you return to Atiu renew the hunt for artefacts withredoubled vigour’ (H.D. Skinner to Allison, 24 January1951), but Allison remained in Rarotonga, eventuallybecoming director of education for the colony (‘CookIslands appointments’ 1955).

In 1950, Skinner attempted to purchase an adze foundin the vegetable plot at Avarua School, Rarotonga. In replyto Skinner’s offer, P.F.Henderson, assistant master of theschool, wrote, ‘[I]t is the wish of the school [that] it shall begiven on long term loan to any properly constitutedMuseum in Rarotonga, if and when, such a Museum is set

up here’ (Henderson to H.D.Skinner, 27 June 1950). In lieuof the adze itself, Henderson offered Skinner a cast of it forOtago Museum.

Henderson’s letter displays a different attitude towardsCook Islands material culture than that generally observed inSkinner’s correspondence during earlier periods of his tenure.Avarua School’s desire to retain the adze in the Cook Islands,in the hope that it would eventually be displayed in a localmuseum, is indicative of a growing desire for indigenouscultural objects to remain in the Cook Islands at a time whenlittle pre-European material was left. During this period therewas also a growing and strong desire for independence fromNew Zealand, which explains the intention to establishindigenous cultural institutions such as a museum in theCook Islands. Curiously, the headmaster of Avarua School atthis time was the aforementioned W.A.Allison (‘Cook Islandsappointments’ 1955). There must, however, have been astrong, broad consensus among those involved in the schoolfor the adze to stay in Rarotonga.

Donations from medical officersSeveral medical officers serving with the colonial adminis-tration also donated objects to Otago Museum. Here, the tiesof friendship, as well as the precedent of earlier donations, aresignificant in encouraging these individuals to donate. Themost significant of these donors was Dr Gordon Dempster.

Gordon DempsterDempster donated objects from a variety of localities inPolynesia to Otago Museum over a period of 30 years. Hismotivations to donate were both his friendship with Skinnerand the passion for curio hunting he had shared with theethnologist while he was a student, as the following extractfrom a letter written in Samoa illustrates: ‘Both my wife andI are looking forward to our return to civilisation in October,and have promised ourselves a relic-digging holiday onreturn. We would welcome suggestions from you as to a suit-able location. Unfortunately all my old searching groundsnow seem to be finished’ (Dempster to H.D. Skinner, 15 May 1937).

Upon graduating from the University of Otago MedicalSchool, Dempster had been stationed as the sole medicalpractitioner in Niue from 1931 to 1935, later working inSamoa for several years (‘Obituary: Dr G.O.L.Dempster’1972). Dempster donated objects from both of theselocations while stationed there.


With regard to Dempster’s Cook Islands donations, hisfirst, a fishhook, was made in 1931. The bulk of his dona -t ions were made in 1951 and come from Pukapuka. These are 10 objects collected while he was leading a research groupinvestigating ‘medical and health problems in the CookIslands’ (‘Dunedin medical officer promoted’ 1955).

Edward Pohau Ellison

Edward Pohau Ellison served as medical officer of health inthe Cook Islands in 1926 and from 1931 to 1945. Hedonated few objects from the Cook Islands to Otago

Museum, but the correspondence between him and Skinnershows that Skinner was not afraid to ask Ellison to collect forhim. Skinner’s hopes were not without precedent. From1919 to 1923, Ellison had served in various roles in thecolonial administration of Niue (Brons & Ellison 2006),resulting in his donation of 51 objects from the island toOtago Museum in 1924–26.

Ultimately, Ellison donated only three Cook Islandsobjects to Otago Museum, one in 1925 and two through Dr D.W. Carmalt-Jones in 1948. However, Skinner didmake attempts to get Ellison to collect more for the museum.In 1932, Ellison wrote, ‘I see you are as keen as ever onobtaining samples of Cook Islands material culture & I willbe in the que vive in regards to collecting some material foryou’ (Ellison to H.D.Skinner, 20 June 1932). No furthermaterial came to the museum through Ellison, but this letter illustrates Skinner’s incessant collecting zeal.

Collecting through Department of Education staff

R.B.Wicks

Skinner obtained 85 Rarotongan adzes through the agencyof school teacher R.B. Wicks in 1927 (Fig. 4). Skinner hadmet Wicks in Rarotonga while travelling to San Francisco onhis Rockefeller Travelling Fellowship that year.

Upon reading of Skinner’s arrangement to purchase theadzes, Willi Fels wrote: ‘I must say you paid an exceedinglylong price for the Rarotongan lot, but as the money will beused for Native School purposes in Rarotonga, it issatisfactory to know that it will be spent in a good cause’(Fels to H.D.Skinner, 27 February 1927).

The ‘good cause’ Fels is referring to here is made clear ina letter written by Skinner several years later: ‘Some years agothrough the agency of Mr. R. W. [sic] Wicks, teacher at[Takitumu School] Nga Tangiia [sic] Rarotonga, thismuseum was able to secure the largest collection in existenceof Cook Island adzes. These were brought in by Mr. Wicks’school-children, and the money we paid secured for theschool an adequate cricket outfit’ (H.D. Skinner toRutherford, 19 November 1930).

In June 1928, Wicks donated a further 92 Rarotonganadzes to Otago Museum from his new base in Christchurch,where he had accepted a teaching position at Opawa School.Wicks wrote that as Skinner had been ‘hauled over the coalson account of paying so much for those adzes … I hope that

Fig. 4 Three Rarotongan toki (adzes) donated by R.B. Wicks in 1927 (D27.64, D27.73 and D27.78, Otago Museum, Dunedin).


if I present my present collection, it will make things alrightfor you!’ (Wicks to H.D.Skinner, 21 March 1928).

William Bird

William Bird donated nine adzes, eight of which were also

from Takitumu School.

Bird spent much of his career in the Department of

Education in New Zealand as inspector of native schools,

rising to chief inspector of primary schools in 1926. From

1930 to 1931 he held the post of superintendent of native

and island education (Renwick 2007). It can be assumed

that this was the period in which Bird acquired the objects

he subsequently donated to Otago Museum, as he wrote to

Skinner saying that the adzes were given to him by the

pupils of Takitumu School, which was located by an outcrop

of basaltic rock, mined in pre-European times for adze

production (Bird to H.D. Skinner, 8 May 1935). This

explains the large quantity of adzes R.B. Wicks acquired

from the same location in 1927.

In 1950, Bird donated a further eight Cook Islands

objects to Otago Museum. These objects had been given to

Sergeant J.W. Berry while training Cook Islanders for

military service during the Second World War. Berry had

been killed during the Italian campaign in the war and his

small collection had passed into the hands of Bird (see Otago

Museum anthropology register D50.255).

Concluding commentsFrom resident commissioners to medical officers and

teachers, Skinner forged collecting networks throughout all

levels of the Cook Islands colonial administration. Personal

friendships with Skinner can be seen as the primary

motivation for these individuals to donate. The donations

of resident commissioners Platts and Ayson, resident agent

Trenn, medical officers Dempster and Ellison, and education

service workers Bird and Freeman were expressions of

friendship towards Skinner. For the amateur anthropologists

such as Trenn, Allison and Dempster, the objects they

collected were also symbols of gratitude for Skinner’s

support of their ethnological endeavours.

Forces beyond Skinner’s control influenced all of the

relationships, donations and purchases discussed here.

Trenn’s changing role in the Cook Islands administration

and his growing responsibilities to his family meant that he

simply did not have the time to collect for Skinner by the

mid-1940s. Ayson, Platts, Bird, Ellison and Dempster were

limited by the duration of their tenures in the Cook Islands,

as well as by the time-consuming responsibilities of their

roles in the colonial administration.

The fact that much of the pre-contact material culture of

many islands in the Cooks group had already been removed

by Skinner’s era also influenced the types and quantities of

objects he was able to collect – and the willingness of Cook

Islanders to part with their family possessions.

The peak period of Otago Museum’s Cook Islands

collection development was the mid-1930s. The Second

World War brought to the Pacific Islands large numbers of

servicemen who ‘cleaned out’ the region of its ethnographic

objects (Allison to H.D. Skinner, 16 August 1948), and

a government-imposed embargo on sending money off

shore (H.D. Skinner to Buck, 2 October 1939) was also

influential. The international growth in private ethnographic

collecting, particularly from the 1950s, additionally

increased the competition for collecting and the resulting

prices for objects (MacClancy 1997: 30). The irony of all this

is that Skinner’s willingness to pay for objects also increased

their value, creating difficulty for later generations of

museum curators, who had to compete for highly priced

objects on the open market (Leach 1972: 11–12).

Most significantly, the Cook Islands Amendment Act

(1950) prohibited the export of ‘Native antiquities’ without

the written permission of the High Commissioner. As

evident in the response to Skinner’s offer to purchase the

adze found that year at Avarua School, the latter period of

his tenure at Otago Museum saw attitudes changing, both

among indigenous Cook Islanders and the Europeans living

there, towards keeping and preserving indigenous material

culture in the Cook Islands.

AcknowledgementsMany thanks to Tim Thomas, who supervised the Master ofAnthropology thesis on which much of this article is based.Sincere thanks also go to the staff at Otago Museum and theHocken Collections for their generous support. Theinsightful, sage comments of my peer reviewers cannot gowithout mention. Finally, special thanks are owed to the lateRichard Skinner, for his friendship, support and valuableinsights into his father’s collecting.


ReferencesAbbreviations

HC Hocken Collections, Dunedin

OMA Anthropology Correspondence, Otago Museum Archives, Dunedin

Anonymous (1936). Pacific Islands Monthly 7(2): 58.Anonymous (1947). Pacific Islands Monthly 17(7): 55.Brons, T. and Ellison, S. (2006). Ellison, Edward Pohau 1884–

1963. In: Dictionary of New Zealand biography [website].Retrieved on 29 January 2015 from www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/4e9/ellison-edward-pohau.

Cook Islands appointments (1955). Pacific Islands Monthly25(10): 61.

Crocombe, R. (2006). Ayson, Hugh Fraser 1884–1948. In:Dictionary of New Zealand biography [website]. Retrieved on29 January 2015 from www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/4a27/ayson-hugh-fraser.

Dunedin medical officer promoted (1955). Otago Daily Times,15 July, p. 5.

Freeman, J.D. (1959). Henry Devenish Skinner: a memoir.Pp.9–27. In: Golson, J., Freeman, J.D. and Geddes, W.R.(eds) Anthropology in the South Seas: essays presented toH.D.Skinner. New Plymouth: Avery.

Leach, H.M. (1972). A hundred years of Otago archaeology:a critical review. Records of the Otago Museum: Anthropology6: 1–19.

Livingstone, R. (1998). The history and development of foreignethnology collections in the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa. Tuhinga: records of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa 10: 1–29.

MacClancy, J. (1997). A natural curiosity: the British marketin primitive art. Pp.27–62. In: MacClancy, J. (ed.) Contest -ing art. Art, politics, and identity in the modern world. Oxford:Berg Publishers.

Obituary: Dr G.O.L. Dempster (1972). Otago Daily Times, 15 June, p. 12.

Renwick, W. (2007). Bird, William Watson 1870–1954. In:Dictionary of New Zealand biography [website]. Retrieved on29 January 2015 from www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/3b33/bird-william-watson.

Scott, D. (1991). Years of the pooh bah: a Cook Islands history.Rarotonga and Auckland: Cook Islands Trading CorporationLimited and Hodder and Stoughton. 320pp.

Skinner, H.D. (1924). The origin and relationships of Maorimaterial culture and decorative art. Journal of the PolynesianSociety 33(132): 229–243.

Skinner H.D. (1951). Otago Museum annual report for the year1950. Dunedin: Otago Museum.

Unpublished sourcesAllison, W.A. to Skinner, H.D. (6 October 1947). Letter.

Archive 1947, OMA.Allison, W.A. to Skinner, H.D. (2 August 1948). Letter. Archive

1948, OMA.Allison, W.A. to Skinner, H.D. (16 August 1948). Letter.

Archive 1948, OMA.Ayson, H. to Skinner, H.D. (30 January 1933). Letter. No. 66,

Archive 1933, OMA.Ayson, H. to Skinner, H.D. (28 November 1934). Letter. No.

330, Archive 1934, OMA.Benham, W. (1924). Testimonial written in support of H.D.

Skinner’s application for the position of curator at AucklandMuseum. 24 November. MS 1219/231, HC.

Bird, W. to Skinner, H.D. (8 May 1935). Letter. No. 106,Archive 1935, OMA.

Dempster, G. to Skinner, H.D. (15 May 1937). Letter. No.355, Archive 1947, OMA.

Ellison, E.P. to Skinner, H.D. (20 June 1932). Letter. No. 157,Archive 1931–32, OMA.

Fels, W. to Skinner, H.D. (27 February 1927). Letter. Archive1927, OMA.

Henderson, P.F. to Skinner, H.D. (27 June 1950). Letter.Archive 1950, OMA.

Platts, F.W. to Skinner, H.D. (25 October 1920). Letter.Archive 1920, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. (1920). Lecture 2. Public lecture notes. MS1219/083, HC.

Skinner, H.D. (1957). Sketch history of the Otago Museumanthropological collections, 21 May. Public address notes.MS 1219/216, HC.

Skinner, H.D. to Allison, W.A. (1 December 1948). Letter.Archive 1948, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Allison, W.A. (24 January 1951). Letter.Archive 1951, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Ayson, H. (12 December 1932). Letter. No.32, Archive 1931–32, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Ayson, H. (12 December 1934). Letter. No.83, Archive 1934, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Buck, P. (23 October 1936). Letter. Archive1936, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Buck, P. (2 October 1939). Letter. No. 134,Archive 1939, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Chapman, Mr (21 June 1939). Letter. No.415, Archive 1939 (II), OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Low, D. (1934). Letter. No. 27, Archive1931, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Platts, F.W. (16 May 1921). Letter. No. 207,Archive 1921–25, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Rutherford, J. (19 November 1930). Letter.No. 503, Archive 1931–32 (II), OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Savage, S. (22 December 1942). Letter.Archive 1942, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Trenn, L. (4 May 1937). Letter. No. 410,Archive 1937 (II), OMA.


Skinner, H.D. to Trenn, L. (8 November 1937). Letter. No.412, Archive 1937, OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Trenn, L. (20 May 1938). Letter. No. 34,Archive 1938 (II), OMA.

Skinner, H.D. to Trenn, L. (3 November 1942). Letter. Archive1942, OMA.

Trenn, L. to Skinner, H.D. (28 September 1936). Letter.Archive 1936, OMA.

Trenn, L. to Skinner, H.D. (4 February 1938). Letter. No.320, Archive 1938 (II), OMA.

Trenn, L. to Skinner, H.D. (20 November 1944). Letter.Archive 1944, OMA.

Trenn, L. to Skinner, H.D. (4 December 1945). Letter. Archive1945, OMA.

Wicks, R.B. to Skinner, H.D. (21 March 1928). Letter. No.195, Archive 1928, OMA.


A silver slice of Mäori history: the Te Pahi medal

Mark StockerMuseum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, PO Box 467, Wellington, New Zealand

([email protected])

ABSTRACT: The sudden reappearance and subsequent sale by Sotheby’s Australia of the Te Pahi medal in April 2014 was a significant numismatic event. The medal is a uniqueobject in early Australasian colonial history. The circumstances of its presentation by theGovernor of New South Wales, Philip Gidley King, to Te Pahi, a Ngäpuhi chief, provideinsights into colonial and indigenous contacts and relationships in the early 1800s.

This paper considers the circumstances behind the commissioning of the medal in1805–06 and its disappearance following colonist and whaler raids in 1810. When themedal reappeared, Ngäpuhi demanded its repatriation and attempted to have its salepostponed. Although this proved unsuccessful, the medal was repatriated thanks to awinning bid jointly made by the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa and theAuckland War Memorial Museum Tämaki Paenga Hira. At the time of writing, the Te Pahimedal has just returned to New Zealand after an absence of more than 200 years.

KEYWORDS: Medal, numismatics, Mäori, Ngäpuhi, Te Papa, Philip Gidley King, TePahi, whalers, James Finucane, Hugh Rihari, Sotheby’s Australia, cultural heritage, AucklandWar Memorial Museum, Bay of Islands, New Zealand.

IntroductionThe dramatic reappearance and sale by Sotheby’s Australia ofthe Te Pahi medal (Figs 1 and 2), largely hidden from view formore than 200 years, is surely the most notable Australasiannumismatic event of 2014.1 Made by transportees at thebehest of a colonial governor for presentation to a Mäorichief, the medal was aptly characterised in a Sydney MorningHerald headline as a slice of history.2 While it is interestingenough in its own right as a very early and extremely scarceexample of Australian silversmithing, the medal drew still greater attention in raising issues of historical and indigenous identity, as well as the contested politics andethics of cultural property and its repatriation.

This writer must declare a personal interest in the matter.The Te Pahi medal was due to be auctioned just weeks afterI had taken up the position as curator of historical andinternational art at the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa

Tongarewa (Te Papa). I believed that every effort needed

to be made to secure the medal for the national collection.

Fortunately, through an unprecedented joint move with

the Auckland War Memorial Museum Tämaki Paenga Hira

(Auckland Museum), this came to pass on a shared basis.

Had the medal been withdrawn from sale – which at one

stage appeared a real possibility – and had high-end private

collectors been less adversely affected by the global financial

crisis, the outcome could well have been very different:

probably a bleaker one for Te Pahi’s Ngäpuhi tribal descen -

dants and numismatists alike. This article aims to fulfil

Te Papa’s mission statement in telling a story ‘with authority

and passion’ about a taonga (treasure) that relates to the

‘land and people’ of Aotearoa New Zealand.3 The ‘passion’

aspect is not hard to feel, as the story is one of triumph

(1806), tragedy (1810) and triumph again (2014), with

considerable mystery in between.


Fig. 1 (above ) Te Pahi medal, obverse,c.1805–06, silver, 45mm diameter. ArtistsJohn Austin and Ferdinand Meurant[attributed] (Te Papa TMP021966).

Fig. 2 (below) Te Pahi medal, reverse.


The inscription and the makersAlthough the Te Pahi medal could be credibly ‘unpacked’ in

a post-colonial academic context as a signifier of boundary-

crossing and cross-cultural travel, its inscription and message

have a disarming straightforwardness. The story it tells is

literally inscribed on its two sides. Its patron, Philip Gidley

King, Governor of New South Wales (1758–1808) (Fig.3),

recorded the circumstances behind it thus:

To give [Te Pahi] some proof of the estimation he washeld in by me and the inhabitants of this place, I caused amedal to be made of silver with the following engraving:‘Presented by Governor King to Tip-a-he, a Chief of NewZealand, during his visit at Port Jackson, in January, 1806’:and on the reverse: ‘In the reign of George the Third, bythe Grace of God King of the United Kingdom of GreatBritain and Ireland’. This medal was suspended by a strongsilver chain around his neck.4

There are small but significant discrepancies between King’s

recollection of the inscription, and how this was actually

rendered. On the medal, ‘TIPAHEE’ is capitalised and not

hyphenated, giving the chief greater force and equal billing

with ‘GEORGE THE THIRD’ on the reverse. Significantly,

what the governor had mistakenly rendered as ‘Port Jackson’

is in fact ‘Sydney’, which makes the message more under -

standable today to an audience unfamiliar with the former

appellation. These variations furthermore serve to underline

the genuineness of the medal; surely a forgery would have

conscientiously copied King’s rendition verbatim.

The inscription spells out the immense historic interest

of the medal, as one of the very first official taonga associated

with Mäori and trans-Tasman relations. Described on

page two of Leslie Carlisle’s authoritative monograph,

Australian historical medals 1788–1988, the Te Pahi medal

post-dates the iconic Charlotte medal (1788; Australian

National Maritime Museum) (Figs 4and5), widely regarded

as Australia’s first colonial work of art, by just 18 years.5

Poignantly, Carlisle illustrated the Te Pahi medal with two

schematic blank circles of tentative dimensions, as his study

preceded its reappearance by several years. Up to that

point, King’s record of the inscription was presumed to

have been accurate.

As the inscription visually dominates and defines the

medal, this potentially lessens its appeal as a work of art.

Yet technically, the copperplate lettering of the Te Pahi

medal is considerably more refined and more conventionally

beautiful than that of the more naive – if incredibly

compelling – Charlotte medal. Furthermore, as DavidHansen stated in his admirable sale catalogue essay, the Te Pahi medal is in a class apart from most of the ‘crudeamateur’ convict love tokens, which frequently utilisedrecycled late eighteenth-century ‘cartwheel’ pennies.6

Although the maker of the Te Pahi medal is unknown, thefield of suspects is narrowed owing to the extreme paucityof skilled silversmiths in early nineteenth-century NewSouth Wales, together with the documented knowledge ofthe timeframe in which it was made. Indeed, the medal’sauthorship may be fairly confidently attributed to the Irishseal engraver and silversmith John Austin (c. 1761–1835)and his close associate and one-time partner in banknoteforgery, the French-born Ferdinand Meurant (1765–1844).7

Both men were transportees from Dublin who arrived inSydney in 1800; Austin had been a freeman of the DublinCompany of Goldsmiths. The capitalised lettering on thereverse of the medal describing George III as King ‘of GreatBritain/ AND/ IRELAND’ could well be a reference to theartists’ (particularly Austin’s) backgrounds.

A few months after the medal was made, King’s bitterenemy, the Irish political convict William Maum, com -plained that ‘these men were never in the employ of

Fig. 3 Governor Philip Gidley King, c. 1800, oil on canvas,600 × 500mm. Artist unknown. (ML 1257, Mitchell Library,State Library of New South Wales, Sydney).

government since their arrival nor were they in any degreeinstrumental in contributing to the welfare of the colony and were solely employed in making jewellery and trinketsfor Mrs King’.8 A sauce ladle, one of the earliest-knownpieces of Australian marked silver (c.1810; private collection)has been attributed to Austin, while Austin and Meuranthave been credited as makers of a gold-mounted turbo-shell snuff box (c. 1808; Powerhouse Museum, Sydney),whose engraving corresponds in its quality to that of the Te Pahi medal.9

The sourcing of the silver for the medal can likewise beidentified reasonably confidently. With its diameter of

45mm, the medal cannot have been a recycled Spanish eight-real coin or a British crown coin, as both have diameters of 38 mm. While either of these coins could have been hammered into a wider medal, such an object would be thin indeed, which the Te Pahi medal is not. The medal’sedge (Fig. 6) instead suggests that it was made from twojoined watch cases, a technical feat compatible with the documented skills of Austin and Meurant.10 Although sucha practice was rare, this was probably an instance of makinga virtue out of necessity in what was then an economicallyprimitive – even sterile – colony, where bullion was in short supply.


Fig. 6 Edge of Te Pahi medal (Auckland War Memorial Museum Tämaki Paenga Hira, Auckland).

Fig. 4 (left ) Charlotte medal, obverse, 1788, silver, 74 mm diameter. Artist Thomas Barrett [attributed] (Australian NationalMaritime Museum, Sydney).

Fig. 5 (right) Charlotte medal, reverse.

Background to the commissionTe Pahi’s place in history has been admirably incorporated

into accounts of Mäori and European contacts by Anne

Salmond and Vincent O’Malley.11 Te Pahi (c. 1760–1810)

(Figs 7 and 8) came from a Ngäpuhi and Ngäti Awa tribal

background, and was paramount chief of the Te Hikutu

people of Rangihoua Bay and Te Puna in the Bay of Islands.

The location of his island pä has been the subject of historical

speculation. Traditionally, it was identified as Roimata (also

known as Te Pahi or Turtle Island), but recent research by


Fig. 7 Tippahee [Te Pahi] A New Zealand Chief, 1827, engraving, 106 × 78mm. ArtistWilliam Archibald, after a drawing by George Prideaux Harris (A-092-007, AlexanderTurnbull Library, Wellington).

archaeologist Angela Middleton and Ngäpuhi architecturalhistorian Deidre Brown has instead pointed rather moreconvincingly to the neighbouring Motuapo Island.12

Te Pahi extended protection to the British and Americanwhalers whose activities were greatly expanding in theopening years of the nineteenth century; the locale provided excellent anchorage. Sir Joseph Banks, veteran of JamesCook’s first voyage to New Zealand in 1768–71 and aleading advocate of Australian colonisation, noted how ‘the South Whalers … have been in the habit of visiting the Bayof Islands for Refreshments & have obtained besides wood

& water Potatoes both Sweet & the Common sort … & fishin abundance They have always been well Receivd there by the Chief [of ] Ta-Poonah [Te Puna]’.13 King received TePahi’s son Matara (also known as Maa-Tara) at GovernmentHouse, Port Jackson, in June 1805, referring to him as ‘the son of a powerful chief at the Bay of Islands who hadalways been extremely hospitable to the whalers’. He gaveMatara metal tools and other gifts, including ‘two femaleand one male swine with two female and one male Goat’, supplemented by 18 sows and two boars picked upat Norfolk Island ‘as a present to Tip-pa-he’.14 Te Pahi,accompanied by four of his sons, resolved to thank King inperson, and went to Port Jackson via Norfolk Island, arrivingthere in November 1805.

Te Pahi’s three-month sojourn at Government House iswell documented. O’Malley observed that it was ‘motivatednot just by the need to reciprocate the gifts he had receivedfrom King, but also in the expectation of establishing anongoing relationship with the Governor for the benefit of hispeople’.15 Te Pahi was on what today would be termed a fact-

finding mission, particularly on the agricultural, textile andconstruction fronts, which he evidently pursued withintelligence and enthusiasm: ‘here was a man with which theBritish could do business’, as David Hansen put it.16 Inturn, King appreciated New Zealand’s growing economicsignificance as a source of whale oil, flax and spars for shipmasts and yards.

The visit was, furthermore, a personal success. If Te Pahicorresponded to the Enlightenment construct of the ‘noblesavage’, he was surely more noble than savage. ‘To say that hewas nearly civilised falls far short of his character’, assertedKing.17 He likened Te Pahi’s manners to those of ‘a well bredGentleman allowing a little for the Country he comes from’.King admired Te Pahi’s ‘high relish for civilisation’ and intel-ligent curiosity, and how he never missed ‘any opportunity ofgaining the most particular information respecting the causeand use of everything that struck his notice’.18 Te Pahi’s ‘ideason the existence of God’ also impressed King and hisEuropean companions. The Reverend Samuel Marsden ofthe Church Missionary Society praised Te Pahi’s ‘Clear,


Fig. 8 Tippahee [Te Pahi], 1808, watercolour and ink. Artist James Finucane (SV* /Mao / Port / 14, Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, Sydney).

Strong and Comprehensive mind’. Marsden was influencedby his example (and still more so by Te Pahi’s successor,Ruatara) to locate the first New Zealand Christian mission inRangihoua Bay several years later in 1814 (Fig. 9).19

Central to the visit, and of particular relevance here, wasthe exchange of gifts, with King receiving a ceremonial patu(club) and several käkahu (cloaks), and Te Pahi carryinghome fruit trees, iron tools and a prefabricated house, thefirst such to be constructed in New Zealand.20 Kingconcluded: ‘Nor have I a doubt that the attention Shewnhim by the Inhabitants in General And the Abundantpresents he took from hence will procure the greatestAdvantage to our South Sea Whalers.’21 While this mayread somewhat disingenuously today – there was no suchthing as a governor’s free board and lodging – O’Malleyrecognises that ‘King had come the closest of any of theeighteenth-century Europeans who encountered Mäori tofinding the middle ground’.22

‘Proof of the estimation in which he was held’

The medal almost certainly was not commissioned inanticipation of the success of Te Pahi’s visit. Instead, itrepresented a prompt response on King’s part to the personalqualities of Te Pahi that emerged during his sojourn. Themedal inscription indicates that it was presented in January1806; very likely it had been commissioned the previousmonth. It symbolised, as King stated, ‘proof of the

estimation’ in which Te Pahi was held. ‘With this and otherpresents he was pleased and gratified’, and with his passionfor ‘real utility’, this particularly applied to ‘the numeroustools and other articles of iron given him from the publicstores and by every class of individuals’.23

As King implies, the medal – which is pierced – wouldhave been worn as a pendant, like a pounamu hei-tiki(greenstone pendant figure), and on Te Pahi’s return homewould have boosted his already considerable mana (prestige)still further. Had Te Pahi gone on to enjoy a peaceful andserene old age, like the venerable chiefs and elders portrayedat the other end of the century by Gottfried Lindauer andCharles Goldie, then the medal might well have eitherremained in Ngäpuhi hands or been presented at somepoint to a museum. But this, of course, is counterfactualhistory and the reality is considerably more complicated.

The medal’s uniqueness needs emphasising. It remainsthe sole physical evidence of the significant contact betweenTe Pahi as an independent and sovereign chief, and PhilipGidley King as governor of a recently established Britishcolony. It is the first state award presented to a Mäori chief,and commemorates the earliest visit of such an eminent per -son to Australia. And while the medal is a token of esteem, it could also be interpreted more liberally as a kind of bravery and good conduct award in recognition of Te Pahi’sintrepid mission. Leaving New Zealand went ‘much againstthe wishes of his dependants’,24 as King noted, but Te Pahirealised that much was at stake in establishing an ongoingrelationship with the governor for the benefit of his people.King stated that Te Pahi ‘considered himself under my protection. If I wished him to remain here, go to Europe, orreturn to his own country, he was resigned to either, and inthe most manly confidence submitted himself and his sons tomy direction. All this was said in such an imposing mannerthat no doubt could be entertained of his sincerity.’25

Historians have perhaps understated how Te Pahi had tocope with a very alien, ‘goldfish bowl’ milieu at GovernmentHouse, his every action and statement under careful colonistscrutiny. Te Pahi appears to have given as good as he got, and‘spared no pains to convince us that the customs of hiscountry were in several instances better than ours, many ofwhich he looked on with the greatest contempt’.26 In onesuch instance, Te Pahi was horrified by what he regarded asthe cruel excesses of the British justice system in this era ofconvict transportation, when a man was sentenced to deathfor stealing pork. He tearfully appealed to King to spare thethief ’s life. When Te Pahi was told at a subsequent dinner


Fig. 9 New Zealand Christmas stamp, ‘First Christian service in New Zealand’, 2½ d, 1964. Designer Leonard CornwallMitchell (Te Papa PH.000538).

party at Government House that British law ‘secured toeach individual the safe possession of his property, andpunished with death all those who would deprive him of it’,he pointed to the captain of the Mercury, Theodore Walker,sitting at the table and demanded: ‘Then why not you hangCaptain—, he come ashore and [stole] all my potatoes – youhang up Captain —’.27 This ‘touché’ moment naturallycaused Walker acute discomfort but greatly amused andperhaps even impressed the rest of the company.

On Te Pahi’s departure, King told Banks: ‘He will returnto his own Country the greatest Monarch that ever left it’,28

while the Sydney Gazette noted: ‘We cannot doubt thesincerity of his professions, or his friendly dispositiontowards our countrymen, which his treatment from ourGovernment has very much improved’.29 Te Pahi himselfreturned with high ideals of cultural and technologicalexchange, and had suggested that several of his people –the Ngäpuhi equivalent of a skilled working class – shouldvisit New South Wales to train as shepherds and bring theseskills home. Further plans to settle a party of colonialobservers under Te Pahi’s protection – and living in his new

prefabricated house – did not, however, materialise. Hissecond visit to Port Jackson in 1808 was marred by ill healthand the absence of two critical allies: King, who hadresigned, exhausted, as governor and was a prematurelydying man in England, and Marsden, who was on leavethere. Internal political tensions following the overthrow andarrest of King’s successor, William Bligh, did not improvematters. On his visit, Lieutenant James Finucane, unofficialprivate secretary to Acting Governor Joseph Foveaux,portrayed ‘Tippahee a Chief of New Zealand’ wearingmilitary uniform (Fig.8), and presented him with a Masonicmedal and ribbon whose own story is discussed below.30

The burning of the BoydWorse was to follow for Te Pahi, in the form of an episodecrucial in explaining the subsequent fate of both medals: the so-called Boyd Massacre, ‘Burning’ (as Salmond andO’Malley favour) or, more euphemistically, ‘Incident’, ofDecember 1809. As with Te Pahi’s first visit to Port Jackson,historians have analysed it in detail.31 Many years after its


Fig. 10 The blowing up of the Boyd, 1889, oil on canvas, 1218 × 1837mm. Artists Louis John Steele and Kennett Watkins (Te Papa1992-00-19-2).


occurrence, the theme would inspire a fascinating pair ofnostalgic history paintings, with depictions by Louis JohnSteele and Kennett Watkins (The Blowing up of the Boyd,1889; Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa)(Fig.10), and by Walter Wright (The Burning of the Boyd,Whangaroa Harbour, 1809, 1908; Auckland Art Gallery Toio Tämaki).32

En route to Cape Town from Sydney, the transport shipBoyd anchored in Whangaroa Harbour to load kauri sparsand allow Mäori passengers to disembark. Contemporaryaccounts suggest that the flogging during the voyage of Te Ara (also known as ‘Tara’ and ‘George’), a Ngäti Pouchief ’s son from Whangaroa, prompted the ensuing events.Such treatment represented an indignity not only to Te Arabut, according to Mäori protocol, to his father and, indeed,his iwi (tribe). The chief offender, Captain John Thompson,and his crew were lured ashore, massacred and the Boyd wasthen looted. Further fatalities occurred with the accidentalignition of gunpowder on board the vessel, the source ofinspiration to the later painters. Some 70 Europeans and anunknown number of the attacking party were believed killed.

Te Pahi was the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was his tragedy to have been implicatedin the attack on the Boyd and its crew when from allpreceding evidence he would have vehemently opposedsuch an outrage. A retrospective account states that ‘whenthey were killing the sailors Tippahee held his hand over his eyes and shed tears’,33 while another version had himunsuccessfully attempting to save a group of sailors whohad climbed the rigging.34 Te Pahi had arrived in Whangaroathe day after the attack to conduct trade, and evidently hedid receive some of the subsequent plunder from the vesselin accordance with custom.

A combination of factors effectively ‘did for’ Te Pahi:ongoing misunderstandings and tensions with whalers;inter-tribal rivalries, which were probably compounded by personal jealousy of his status; but above all, the colonialauthorities needed to identify and punish a ringleader, or in this case a scapegoat, among ‘a people long deemedtreacherous and unpredictable’.35 A likely element ofconvenient confusion was made between Te Ara’s brother Te Puhi, who was almost certainly involved in the attack,and Te Pahi’s near namesake. The upshot was, as Salmondstates, that ‘this “friendly chief ”, who had lived withGovernor King at Sydney … was castigated as a treacherouscannibal’.36 A contemporary broadsheet ballad (Fig. 11)colourfully describes Te Pahi’s alleged foul deeds of murderand cannibalism:

Chief Tippohee came on boardWith all his company.Some time he view’d the vessel o’er,Then gave a dreadful yell,Which was the signal to begin,Upon the crew they fell. Thirty of whom the monsters tore,Limb from limb with speed,And while their teeth did reek with gore,They ate it as ’twere bread.37

News of the attack on the Boyd reached Sydney in March

1810, and created understandable alarm among crews plan-

ning to visit the Bay of Islands. A hurried investigation con-

ducted by supercargo Alexander Berry, informed by a Bay of

Islands chief variously rendered as ‘Matengaha’, ‘Matingiro’

and, by Salmond, ‘Matengaro’, concluded that Te Pahi had

been responsible. The report memorably ended: ‘let no man

(after this) trust a New Zealander’.38 Following the compar-

atively recent discovery of Finucane’s journal, now in the

National Library of Ireland, and its publication by Anne-

Maree Whitaker, it can be established that three revenge

attacks on the part of colonists and whalers took place, rather

than the two that had been previously documented.39 The

first consisted of cannon shots from Berry’s ship, the City ofEdinburgh, directed at Te Pahi’s residence, which evidently

missed their target but which ‘must have sent a frightening

message to the residents of Wairoa Bay about their changing

relationship with Europeans’.40

Further attacks took place on 26 March and 10 April

1810. Historically, they have been conflated, and the third

has only recently emerged with the publication of Finucane’s

journal. Their combined effect left Te Pahi’s settlement in

ruins, with an unknown number of deaths of his people,

estimates varying from the lower 20s to more than 70. Te

Pahi’s own fate is likewise uncertain. One account claimed

that he had died in the third attack after being shot seven

times. Traditionally, however, his death was said to have

occurred several weeks later ‘from a wound suffered in

fighting between his people and those of Whangaroa, caused

by the Boyd affair’.41 More definite was the assault on his

prefabricated house, the repatriation of gifts made to him

earlier, the end of both the governor’s sanction of trade in

the area and the Crown’s recognition of Te Pahi’s chiefly

authority, and the delay for several years of the establishment

of Marsden’s mission station. Finucane’s journal entry of

10 April is highly relevant here:


Fig. 11 Atrocious and horrible massacre, c.1810–11, broadsheet (St Bride Library, London).

We soon cleared the island of its inhabitants. A few werekilled and the remainder throwing away their arms leapedinto the sea and swam to the mainland, leaving their King’shouse with the presents he had at various times receivedfrom our government and from individuals as a booty tothe invaders. Amongst them was the medal which I gavehim at Port Jackson, and which the sailor who found itagain restored it to me.42

Despite having met Te Pahi in more civilised circumstancestwo years previously and alluded to here, Finucane wasconvinced of his guilt in ‘the infernal purpose which he sowell planned and effectually accomplished’.43

A problematic provenanceFinucane does not mention the original Te Pahi medal in

his journal, and was perhaps not even aware of it. Its where-

abouts between 1810 and 1899 must remain speculative,

even if it is likely to have been among the items repatriated

in the revenge attacks. Marsden’s companion John Liddiard

Nicholas noted in his Narrative of a voyage to New Zealand(1817) that one of Te Pahi’s daughters was seen wearing

the chain for the medal in 1815.44 Contrary to local

histo rian Jack Lee’s far more recent statement, this did

not mean the medal itself.45 To refer to it, as the Ngäpuhi

kaumätua (elder) Hugh Rihari categorically did in his initial

approach to Sotheby’s, as a ‘Stolen Medal Up for Auction’ is

emotionally compelling but impossible to prove. When

Ngäpuhi considered imposing an injunction to postpone its

sale, their lawyers, Henry Davis York, specifically quoted

Finucane’s passage referring to the repatriation of the

Masonic medal.46 Sotheby’s lawyers, John F. Morrissey and

Company, immedi ately responded by saying ‘the facts

and circumstances that you have identified under the

heading “Provenance” is not accepted by my client … The

diary extract refers to the medal presented by Lieutenant

Finucane, not the medal presented by Governor King.’47

That said, the provenance provided by Sotheby’s was

spotty. Hansen describes the medal in his catalogue essay as

‘only recently rediscovered after a “disappearance” of some

200 years’.48 It had ‘possibly’ been in the possession of Dutch

land surveyor Johan Peter du Moulin (1816–1901), who

emigrated to Australia in 1834 and who – appealingly but

probably coincidentally – resided in the Bay of Islands in the

mid-1840s. The first written record of the medal since King

dates from the will of 1899 made by Johan Peter’s nephew,

Dr Edward Joseph Brooks du Moulin (1856–1900), of

Dubbo, New South Wales.49 It thence proceeded through

descent to its vendors, who have to date furnished no further

information about the provenance.

The reappearance of a medalThe resurfacing of the Te Pahi medal in March 2014,scratched and scuffed but in a numismatically ‘fine’ condi-tion, created instant excitement. Among certain Ngäpuhi,however, not least Te Pahi’s many descendants, the responsetook the form of anguish, even anger. This was conveyed in a Bay Chronicle article of 3 April – 12 days before the sale– under the headline ‘Te Pahi’s long-lost medal “needs tocome home”’. It reported that Hugh Rihari had ‘gathered[Deidre] Brown and other experts together, to look into the history of the medal and whether it was indeed one of the several taonga stolen from Te Pahi’s prefabricated house’.Brown described the medal as ‘an important taonga that … symbolises the promise of an equitable inter-cultural relationship that we were robbed of in the confusion thatfollowed the Boyd attack’.50

This tone was repeated in Rihari’s first direct approach toGeoffrey Smith, chairman of Sotheby’s Australia, when hereferred to the medal’s ‘theft and disappearance through loot-ing in April 1810’, which ‘brings back a lot of emotion, andrekindles the pain associated with the tragic circumstanceunder which that medal left our shores unauthorised’.51 In hisreply, Smith was partly conciliatory, indicating that Sotheby’shad made an application for an export permit underAustralia’s Protection of Movable Cultural Heritage Act 1986to facilitate its potential repatriation to New Zealand, but‘that said, I must regretfully advise that we are unable toaccede to your … request for postponement of the sale’. Thiswas due to the explicit contract with the vendors and theimplicit contract with interested buyers: ‘While we haveevery sympathy and understanding for your Iwi’s interest in the medal, in this case we remain bound by legal and professional constraints.’ Smith suggested that the questionof the return of the medal ‘might more properly, fully andprofitably be addressed through representation to theAustralian and New Zealand Governments rather than toSotheby’s Australia or its clients’.52

Legal medallingFollowing Smith’s reply, Ngäpuhi – specifically the NgätiTorehina hapü (sub-tribe) of Hugh Rihari – instructed thelawyers Henry Davis York to pursue the matter further. In


their letter to Sotheby’s, Henry Davis York referred to thepassage in Finucane’s journal recounting the removal of the Masonic medal with the unstated implication that both medals were thus affected. Perhaps the lawyers were on stronger ground when they deemed the provenance for the Te Pahi medal insufficient: ‘Despite its policy of only presenting the finest quality artefacts “with impeccableprov enance”, Sotheby’s Australia has failed to establish provenance of the Medal with any reasonable certainty.’ It was made clear that ‘our clients wish to resolve the issue ofprovenance without resort to litigation if possible’, and tothat effect, invited Sotheby’s and their clients to attend ameeting with representatives of the Ngäti Torena hapü toprovide further information. Henry Davis York requestedthat the medal be withdrawn from sale, and that Sotheby’sagree to hold and secure it, pending determination of prov -enance. Should they fail to do so, ‘urgent injunctive relief ’ inthe Supreme Court of New South Wales would be sought.53

In response, Sotheby’s lawyer, John F. Morrissey, demanded to know the personal or corporate status of the‘Ngäti Torehina hapü’, and whether such clients residedand/or owned assets in Australia. Morrissey noted the dis -tinc tion between the two medals, questioned the legalvalidity of any arguments of ‘cultural and spiritualsignificance’ and reiterated Smith’s refusal to withdraw themedal from sale. If the injunction proceeded, Sotheby’swould ‘require security for costs prior to any order beingmade by the [Supreme] Court’, together with an under -taking as to damages. This meant that if Sotheby’s had beeninjuncted and had the plaintiff lost the case, the latter wouldundertake to pay the damages that the auction house hadincurred. The figure stipulated was AU$882,000, whichconsisted of AU$120,000 plus GST as Sotheby’s loss of fee, AU$500,000 (the upper end of the estimated value) as ‘the loss of value of the medal’, AU$200,000 as the lossof proceeds of sale and a further AU$50,000 towards legalcosts ‘in respect of any interlocutory application and anypreliminary matters’.54

While this dispute of a local hapü versus a global auctionhouse may smack of David and Goliath, or to take a localisedexample, the Kerrigan family’s opposition to propertydevelopers in the endearing Australian film The Castle(1997), the legal issues at stake – and indeed the standpointof the prospective defendant, Sotheby’s – merit seriousconsideration. It is hardly surprising that Sotheby’s did notroll over when they received the demand to withdraw themedal from sale, as this would have had serious commercial

consequences, both on the commission from the sale and interms of reputation. It is normal in injunction applicationsfor the defendant to ask for payment to cover any potentialloss that may be incurred as a consequence of not doingsomething they want to do. Courts wish to deter vexatiousclaims that interfere with sales, and it is next to certain thatsecurity costs would have been ordered in this instance.55

Even if AU$882,000 may well be regarded as anextravagant demand, Sotheby’s stance cannot be regarded asintimidatory; the figure was not plucked out of the air.Morrissey was effectively protecting Sotheby’s interests in theabsence of what they regarded as compelling evidence thatthey were doing anything wrong. Lawyers normally makeestimates at the high end of the range to give them room tonegotiate downwards if such an injunction applicationwould proceed – ‘aim high and hope the Court comes downon your side’.56 That said, there is a whiff of a large corporate(and powerful law firm) calling the bluff of a humblerclaimant that they regard as a nuisance, and scaring themwith the threat of financial repercussions.

Sotheby’s request for their fee (AU$120,000), in additionto the value of the medal (AU$500,000), pushed their caseto its limits. As the medal did not belong to them, theycould not credibly claim the latter amount, as their only losswould have been the fee. It would have been up to thevendor to make any separate representation. While thismust remain hypothetical, it is therefore unlikely that theSupreme Court would have upheld Sotheby’s figure.Determining costs is a balancing process to facilitate justice,and while adequate and fair protection should be providedto the defendant, it is a hallowed legal principle that ‘povertyis no bar to a litigant’.57

In common with most injunction applications, thatproposed came at the 11th hour: just two days before theauction, a document was drafted on behalf of the larger andwealthier tribal authority, Te Rünanga ä Iwi o Ngäpuhi(Ngäpuhi Tribal Council), rather than the Ngäti Torehinahapü. Kingi Taurua agreed to act as the first plaintiff, andSonny Tau, chairman of the rünanga, as the second. Tauruaagreed to the medal being delivered to the rünanga shouldproceedings be successful, or on the assumption that it couldnot be lawfully exported from Australia, for the rünanga tomake arrangements for its safekeeping in that country.58 Inthe event, the injunction proceedings were dropped.59 Evenif the figure had been significantly lowered by the SupremeCourt, as seems likely, the costs would still ‘have been huge… it could have easily ended up as a six-figure sum. Our


people have not historically done well within the courtsystem and this would have been … in somebody else’scountry.’60 Furthermore, it seems highly doubtful thatspending large amounts on legal fees to pursue a historicaland numismatic cause would have sat happily with therünanga’s core responsibilities as a provider for Ngäpuhisocial services and educational and training scholarships.

‘Gee, this medal belonged to me’Although neither Ngäti Torehina nor the Rünanga ä Iwi oNgäpuhi issued a press statement, the contested medalenjoyed a steady build-up of news coverage, with the NewZealand Herald carrying the headline: ‘Ngapuhi fear medalwill be lost for good’. The same account stated that Rihari’sbid ‘for a postponement of the auction so he could have adiscussion with Sotheby’s … was “flatly refused”’.61 Smith’scrucial role was not reported; instead, Sotheby’s spokes -person was Gary Singer, a member of its board of directors,a former Deputy Lord Mayor of Melbourne and, in hiscolourful private life, Smith’s partner.62 Singer robustly

questioned the basis of the Ngäpuhi claim: ‘We don’t knowwho they are or what they want, so it’s impossible to give adefinitive reply … No one has come forward and said,“This is the basis of my claim” – when people make a claim,they usually back it up.’63 He reiterated this point to SBSWorld News: ‘If they had a claim, they should have put uptheir hand and said ages ago [sic], gee this medal belongedto me, where is it?’64 The medal was, he asserted, animportant piece of Australian history and one of its ‘proudermoments. This was an incident where we recognised anindigenous visitor and we have gone out of our way to befriendly and treated him with respect.’65 It is worthpostulating whether Philip Gidley King’s enlightenmentshould somehow serve to ease Sotheby’s conscience over200 years later.

Whatever its deficiency in causality, Singer’s standpointis certainly at odds with recent shifts in thinking – at leastamong museum directors and curators – on the return ofcultural property, ‘a legitimate and morally correct thing todo’, according to museologist Piotr Bienkowski. Suchrestitution and repatriation centres on ‘objects looted or


Fig. 12 Protesters performing a haka, Intercontinental Hotel, Sydney, 14 April 2014 (photo: Dominic Lorrimer/Fairfax AUS).

wrongfully removed during colonial occupation’, and herethe Te Pahi medal seems like a credible candidate.66 Such anargument would probably have cut little ice with Singer,whose take on ‘challenges to ownership’ was to say ‘thesesorts of things go on all of the time – you only have to lookat Greece and the Elgin Marbles’.67 Ironically, by citing thisnotorious precedent, Singer arguably strengthened ratherthan weakened the Ngäpuhi case. Lord Elgin derived fulladvantage from the firman (letter of instruction) granted himby the Ottoman Porte – and thus in the context of pre-independence Greece – to ‘take away any pieces of stonewith inscriptions and figures thereon’.68 The outcome was adenuded Parthenon. The parallel with Te Pahi, whether interms of the absence of colonist and whaler sovereignty overhis land and people in 1810, or in the brutal outcome,seems apparent. Understandably, perhaps, Singer chose toemphasise the happier climate of events in 1806, as well asto question Ngäpuhi’s title claims.

Far more newsworthy than the official standpoint ofeither Ngäpuhi or Sotheby’s was the haka (posture dance)performed by half a dozen Ngäpuhi expatriates at Sydney’sIntercontinental Hotel, the venue of the sale (Fig. 12). Theprotest received prominent coverage in the Sydney MorningHerald and SBS World News. The leader of the haka, KiriBarber, saw the protest as complementing but alsoreinforcing Ngäpuhi’s legal moves. It was an attempt ‘toshame Sotheby’s into withdrawing the medal’. Barberclaimed: ‘You can’t put a price on our history … This is suchan important part of our story – the first time a Britishleader recognised one of our leaders. It cannot just becomesomeone’s investment plaything or disappear into a privatecollection.’69 Although this action received no formalNgäpuhi sanction, Deidre Brown much admires Barber’scourage and determination.70

At the sale the next day, despite being initially told he wasnot allowed to be present, Barber followed his protest bystanding up to address those present in Mäori. Securityofficers let him have his say before politely escorting himfrom the auction room. He later claimed that he was simplyproclaiming a karakia (ritual chant) of farewell to the medal:‘It was such a sad moment for us. Because after 204 years,we see it for a week. And it’s gone.’71 Rihari’s sentiments onthe night of the sale were near identical. He was ‘resignedto the fact that an important piece of Ngäpuhi and NewZealand history would likely be gone’, and added that ‘wehave gone as far as we can but at the end of the day there’snot much more we can do’.71

Under joint ownershipThe Te Pahi medal was sold at the lower end of its estimated

range, attracting a winning bid of AU$300,000 made jointly

by Te Papa and Auckland Museum. Contrary to the

expectations of independent valuers who predicted that it

might rival that of the Charlotte medal (which realised

AU$750,000 in 2008), bidding proved conservative. There

are several possible explanations. The Te Pahi medal lacks the

Charlotte medal’s pictorial richness. It is primarily of

Aotearoa New Zealand rather than Australian historical

interest, and therefore lacked a critical mass of avid and

affluent local collectors. The global financial crisis almost

certainly cast a shadow on the enthusiasm of such private

collectors, and at least one Australian museum evidently

had misgivings over the inadequate provenance that

Sotheby’s provided.73 It is even possible that these same

demonised investors, with their lifestyle of ‘playthings’ (to

paraphrase Barber), demonstrated an iota of restraint, and

what might be construed as cultural sensitivity, following the

highly publicised protests. Certainly the same factor, com -

pounded by concerns over legitimacy of title, significantly

influenced the desultory bidding at a controversial Eve

auction of indigenous Hopi masks in Paris in June 2014,

where only nine of 29 lots were sold.74

The Te Pahi medal’s new owners were revealed the day

after the sale, following consultation with Ngäpuhi. Te Papa

and Auckland Museum had been in close contact for at

least two weeks prior to the sale and had agreed on an

equally split financial contribution, with a corresponding

share of the ownership, should their joint bid be successful.

Auckland Museum will enjoy possession of the medal in the

first instance, in recognition of the interest of Ngäpuhi, for

a period of one year commencing with its arrival in New

Zealand. Te Papa will then have possession of the medal for

the equivalent period; thereafter, possession will be for a

period of five years for each institution. Both parties will

jointly enter into a kaitiaki (stewardship) agreement with the

descendants of Te Pahi and other relevant Ngäpuhi hapü

that recognises their association with the medal and their

ongoing involvement in its management. Initially, a

ceremonial ‘handover’ of the medal at the Rua Rau Festival

at Parramatta was proposed for late October 2014, but this

never took place. Instead, for reasons of protocol, when the

medal was brought back to New Zealand on 28 November

2014 it was taken by museum staff and Ngäti Rua (Te Pahi’s

former descendants and today a hapü) to Te Pahi’s estate and


was welcomed back onto that land. The medal was then

formally handed back to the custodianship of its new owners

by Ngäti Rua, Ngäti Torehina and Ngäti Rehi at Auckland

War Memorial Museum on 6 December 2014.75

The acquisition of the Te Pahi medal was acclaimed byRoy Clare, director of the Auckland Museum. It was a

uniquely important acquisition by two of the country’sleading institutions [that] affirms the strength of therapidly evolving day to day relationship with iwi, hapüand whänau [family groups] across Aotearoa New Zealand… The museum is among the kaitiaki that care for and re-connect taonga with people and their communities. As such, we’re thrilled to have worked together with Te Papa, with encouragement from Te Pahi descendants in Ngäpuhi, to secure the return to Aotearoa of an excep -tion ally significant piece of history relating to earlyrelationships between Mäori and Europeans.76

Arapata Hakiwai, the kaihautü (Mäori leader) at Te Papa,concurred, declaring

The partnership between Te Papa and Auckland Museum,working in collaboration with Te Rünanga ä Iwi oNgäpuhi, demonstrates the importance for this nationallysignificant taonga to return home. It is important touphold the principle of Mana Taonga, which recognisesthe relationship between treasures and their descendantsource communities. In the case of the Te Pahi medal, thisacknowledges the value of this tribal treasure to presentand future generations.77

In turn, Rihari believed that the acquisition ‘brings closureto the pain and suffering that our peoples have endured forthese past 204 years, following the medal’s loss in the attackon Te Pahi’s islands, Motuapo and Roimata’.78

ConclusionThis case study testifies to the political significance of the Te Pahi medal in history – and art history. It is one that is repeatedly and frustratingly overlooked by practitionersin these respective disciplines, particularly the latter. Severalsignificant questions remain unanswered. Even if the immedi ate circumstances of its disappearance, on or aboutApril 1810, are unlikely ever to be determined, the near-90-year gap in its provenance prior to Edward Joseph Brooks duMoulin’s will of 1899 must somehow be resolved, howeverpartially. The du Moulin family – or their descendants –deserve thanks from Ngäpuhi for their role as the carefulkaitiaki of the medal over the past century and more, as

Deidre Brown has acknowledged.79 More may well emergeabout the medal’s history as a consequence, even if the recentglare of controversial publicity over the Sotheby’s sale hasunderstandably caused its former owners to wish to maintainanonymity, at least for the moment. Finally, the whereaboutsof the second Te Pahi medal, repatriated by its original donor,James Finucane, remain tantalisingly unknown.

AcknowledgementsI am particularly grateful to my colleague Matiu Baker(Curator Historic Mäori Visual Materials, Te Papa), whowrote the acquisition proposal for the Te Pahi medal, foranswering numerous questions, offering considered adviceand reading the draft of this article. I appreciate the com-ments and corrections made by the two readers, DeidreBrown (School of Architecture, University of Auckland) andRoger Fyfe (Senior Curator, Human History, CanterburyMuseum). My warm thanks also go to the following: BriarBarry (Logistics Coordinator, Icebreaker, Wellington);Marcia Hau (Contact BAS Agent, Sydney); Hugh Rihari(Chair, Rangihoua Pä Native Reserve); Peter Lane (HonoraryNumismatist, Art Gallery of South Australia); ConalMcCarthy (Museum and Heritage Studies, VictoriaUniversity of Wellington); Jim Noble (Noble NumismaticsPty., Sydney); Zoe Richardson (photographer, Auckland WarMemorial Museum Tämaki Paenga Hira); Rachel Spencer(School of Law, University of South Australia); Sonny Tau(Board Chair, Te Rünanga ä Iwi o Ngäpuhi); and John Wade(editor, Australiana).

Notes1 Sotheby’s Australia, Fine Asian, Australian & European

Arts and Design sale, Sydney, 15 April 2014, lot 125.2 Damien Murphy, ‘Maori haka protest against auction of a

slice of their history’, Sydney Morning Herald, 15 April 2014,retrieved on 7 October 2014 from www.smh.com.au/national/maori-haka-protest-against-auction-of-a-slice-of-their-history-20140414-36nq1.html.

3 Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, Te Papa: morethan a museum, brochure, retrieved on 7 October 2014 fromwww.tepapa.govt.nz/SiteCollectionDocuments/PlanYourVisit/TePapa.Generic.Online.Brochure.English.pdf.

4 Quoted in Tim Flannery (ed.), The explorers: stories ofdiscovery and adventure from the Australian frontier,Melbourne: Text Publishing, 1998, p. 103.

5 Leslie J. Carlisle, Australian historical medals 1788–1988,Sydney: Leslie J. Carlisle, 2008, p. 2.


6 David Hansen, ‘The Te Pahi silver medal’, in: Fine Asian,Australian & European Arts & Design: Sydney 15 April 2014,sales catalogue, Sydney: Sotheby’s Australia, p. 42. See alsoMichele Field and Timothy Millett (eds), Convict lovetokens: the leaden hearts the convicts left behind, Adelaide:Wakefield Press, 1998.

7 See John Hawkins, Nineteenth-century Australian silver.Volume 1, Woodbridge, UK: Antique Collectors’ Club,1989, pp.33–35; and John Houstone and John Wade, ‘JohnAustin, forger and silversmith’, Australiana 31(4), 2009,pp.34–35.

8 Quoted in Hawkins, Nineteenth-century Australian silver,p. 33.

9 Hawkins, Nineteenth-century Australian silver, p. 35.10 Jim Noble, email to the author, 8 July 2014.11 See Anne Salmond, Between worlds: early exchanges between

Mäori and Europeans 1773–1815, Auckland: Penguin,1997, pp.327–329, 349–372; and Vincent O’Malley, Themeeting place: Mäori and Päkehä encounters, 1642–1840,Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2012, pp. 45–50, 55–56, 59–62. See also Angela Ballara, ‘Te Pahi’, in:Dictionary of New Zealand biography [website], retrieved on7 October 2014 from www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/1t53/te-pahi.

12 Deidre Brown, ‘Te Pahi’s whare: the first European housein New Zealand’, in: Fabulation: myth, nature, heritage:Proceedings of the 29th Annual Conference of the Society ofArchitectural Historians Australia & New Zealand,Launceston, Tasmania, 5–8 July 2012, Launceston: Societyof Architectural Historians Australia and New Zealand,pp.181–183. See also Angela Middleton, Te Puna: a NewZealand mission station, New York: Springer, 2008.

13 Quoted in Salmond, Between worlds, p. 329.14 Ibid.15 O’Malley, The meeting place, p. 46.16 Hansen, ‘The Te Pahi silver medal’, p. 42.17 Quoted in Flannery (ed.), The explorers, p. 100.18 Ibid., pp.100–101.19 Quoted in Salmond, Between worlds, p. 351. For a

discussion of Te Pahi’s ‘ideas on the existence of a God’, seeRobert McNab (ed.), Historical records of New Zealand.Volume 1, Wellington: Government Printer, 1908, p. 267.

20 For an excellent study of this house, see Brown, ‘Te Pahi’swhare’, pp.164–186.

21 Quoted in James Frederick Watson (ed.), Historical recordsof Australia. Series 1, volume V, July 1804–August 1806,Sydney: Library Committee of the CommonwealthParliament, 1915, p. 658.

22 O’Malley, The meeting place, p. 45.23 Quoted in Flannery (ed.), The explorers, p. 103.24 Ibid., p. 100.25 Ibid.26 Ibid., p. 101.27 Quoted in Salmond, Between worlds, p. 354.28 Ibid., p. 356

29 Ibid.30 For details of Te Pahi’s second visit to Port Jackson, see

Salmond, Between worlds, pp.369–372.31 See Salmond, Between worlds, pp.368–397; and O’Malley,

The meeting place, pp.61–63.32 For Steele and Watkins, see Roger Blackley, ‘Louis John

Steele 1843–1918; Kennett Watkins 1847–1933’, in:William McAloon (ed.), Art at Te Papa, Wellington: TePapa Press, 2009, p. 100; for Wright, see ‘Walter Wright,The Burning of the Boyd, Whangaroa Harbour, 1809 ’, in:Auckland Art Gallery Toi o Tämaki [website], retrieved on7 October 2014 from www.aucklandartgallery.com/the-collection/browse-artwork/234/the-burning-of-the-boyd,-whangaroa-harbour,-1809.

33 O’Malley, The meeting place, p. 62. 34 Salmond, Between worlds, p. 392.35 O’Malley, The meeting place, p. 62.36 Salmond, Between worlds, p. 392.37 Quoted in ibid., p. 388; illustration ibid., p. 389.38 Quoted in ibid., p. 387.39 Anne-Maree Whitaker (ed.), Distracted settlement: New

South Wales after Bligh: from the journal of Lieutenant JamesFinucane, Melbourne: Miegunyah Press, 1998, pp.99–100.

40 Brown, ‘Te Pahi’s whare’, p. 176.41 Ballara, ‘Te Pahi’.42 Quoted in Whitaker (ed.), Distracted settlement, p. 100.43 Ibid.44 J.L. Nicholas, Narrative of a voyage to New Zealand,

performed in the years 1814 and 1815, in company with theRev. Samuel Marsden. Volume 2, London: James Black andSon, 1817, p. 179.

45 Jack Lee, The Bay of Islands, Auckland: Reed Publishing,1983, p. 41.

46 Kathy Merrick and Andrew von Königsmark, Henry DavisYork, fax and email to Geoffrey Smith, 10 April 2014.

47 John F. Morrissey, email to Kathy Merrick and Andrewvon Königsmark, 11 April 2014.

48 Hansen, ‘The Te Pahi silver medal’, p. 40. 49 Ibid. Edward Joseph du Moulin decreed that the ‘old

Australian Silver medal presented to Tiappahee which Idesire shall not be parted with’ should be left to his sonWilliam Edward du Moulin (1892–1949) ‘on his attaininghis majority’, 25 October 1899. I am grateful to MarciaHau for providing me with a copy of the will.

50 ‘Te Pahi’s long-lost medal “needs to come home”’, BayChronicle, 3 April 2014, retrieved on 7 October 2014 fromwww.stuff.co.nz/auckland/local-news/northland/bay-chronicle/9895113/Te-Pahis-long-lost-medal-needs-to-come-home. In turn, Brown and Rihari alerted Te Papa tothe sale. They worked in collaboration with the museum,they were interested parties in the imminent legal actionwith Sotheby’s Australia, and they were kept informed of the direct protest action in Sydney by its leaders.Independently, Professor Alison Jones, of Te Puna Wänanga,University of Auckland, also saw the relevant newspaper


item and alerted her son, Finn McCahon-Jones, associatecurator of applied arts and design at Auckland Museum.These responses and activities testify to the collaborativeefforts of hapü, museums and other organisations in theirefforts to repatriate the medal.

51 Hugh Rihari, letter (faxed) to Geoffrey Smith, 9 April 2014.52 Geoffrey Smith, email and fax to Hugh Rihari, 9 April

2014. On an informal level, Rihari informed the Ministerof Culture and Heritage and Attorney-General, ChrisFinlayson, of his concerns, with the latter conveying hismoral support without making any commitment toGovernment intervention (Deidre Brown, conversa tionwith the author, 29 August 2014).

53 Merrick and von Königsmark to Smith, 10 April 2014.54 Morrissey to Merrick and von Königsmark, 11 April 2014.55 Rachel Spencer, School of Law, University of South

Australia, email to the author, 2 October 2014.56 Briar Barry, logistics coordinator, Icebreaker, Wellington,

email to the author, 30 September 2014.57 Ibid. 58 Sonny Tau, draft statement to Kathy Merrick, 13 April

2014. 59 In a draft letter to John Morrissey dated 15 April 2014,

Kathy Merrick and Andrew von Königsmark stated, ‘Giventhe size of the undertaking claimed, our clients are unableto proceed with any application for urgent injunctive relief ’.

60 Deidre Brown, email to the author, 5 August 2014.61 James Ihaka, ‘Ngapuhi fear medal will be lost for good’,

New Zealand Herald, 16 April 2014, retrieved on 7 October2014 from http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=11238826.

62 ‘Gary Singer’, in: Wikipedia: the free encyclopedia [website],retrieved on 7 October 2014 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gary_Singer.

63 Murphy, ‘Maori haka protest against auction’. 64 Naomi Selvaratnam, ‘Historic Maori medal returning to

NZ’, SBS World News radio transcript, 18 April 2014,retrieved on 7 October 2014 from www.sbs.com.au/news/article/2014/04/18/historic-maori-medal-returning-nz?__federated=1.

65 Ihaka, ‘Ngapuhi fear medal will be lost’.66 Piotr Bienkowski, ‘“You’re gonna make me lonesome when

you go”: a critique of museum restitution and repatriationpractices’, in: Conal McCarthy (ed.), Museum practice: thecontemporary museum at work, Oxford and Malden, MA:Wiley Blackwell, forthcoming.

67 Ihaka, ‘Ngapuhi fear medal will be lost’.68 For an excellent summary of the controversial status of the

firman and its translation, see ‘Elgin Marbles’, in: Wikipedia:the free encyclopedia [website], retrieved on 7 October 2014from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elgin_Marbles.

69 Murphy, ‘Maori haka protest against auction’.70 Deidre Brown, conversation with the author, 29 August

2014.71 Selvaratnam, ‘Historic Maori medal’.

72 Ihaka, ‘Ngapui fear medal will be lost’.73 Peter Lane, honorary numismatist, Art Gallery of South

Australia, conversation with the author, 4 July 2014; DeidreBrown, communication with the author, 16 December2014.

74 Mike Boehm, ‘Sacred Hopi tribal masks are again sold atauction in Paris’, Los Angeles Times, 29 June 2014, retrievedon 7 October 2014 from http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/culture/la-et-cm-native-american-hopi-sacred-mask-auction-paris-20140627-story.html.

75 For information on the Rua Rau Festival, see ‘Rua RauFestival 2014’, in: Discover Parramatta [website], retrievedon 7 October 2014 from www.discoverparramatta.com/events/festivals/rua_rau_festival. Deidre Brown suppliedthe updated information in a communication with theauthor, 16 December 2014.

76 Cherie McQuilkin, ‘Te Papa and Auckland Museum worktogether to return Te Pahi medal to New Zealand’, Te Papapress statement, 16 April 2014, retrieved on 7 October2014 from www.tepapa.govt.nz/AboutUs/Media/Pages/TePapaandAucklandMuseumworktogethertoreturnTePahiMedaltoNewZealand.aspx.

77 Ibid.78 Ibid.79 Deidre Brown, conversation with the author, 29 August

2014.

ReferencesAuckland Art Gallery Toi o Tämaki (2015). Walter Wright, The

Burning of the Boyd, Whangaroa Harbour, 1809. In:Auckland Art Gallery Toi o Tämaki [website]. Retrieved on7 October 2014 from www.aucklandartgallery.com/the-collection/browse-artwork/234/the-burning-of-the-boyd,-whangaroa-harbour,-1809.

Ballara, A. (2012). Te Pahi. In: Dictionary of New Zealandbiography [website]. Retrieved on 7 October 2014 fromwww.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/1t53/te-pahi.

Bienkowski, P. (forthcoming). ‘You’re gonna make me lonesomewhen you go’: a critique of museum restitution andrepatriation practices. In: McCarthy, C. (ed.) Museumpractice: the contemporary museum at work. Oxford andMalden, MA: Wiley Blackwell.

Blackley, R. (2009). Louis John Steele 1843–1918; KennettWatkins 1847–1933. P.100. In: McAloon, W. (ed.) Art atTe Papa. Wellington: Te Papa Press.

Boehm, M. (2014). Sacred Hopi masks are again sold at auctionin Paris. Los Angeles Times, 29 June. Retrieved on 7 October2014 from www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/culture/la-et-cm-native-american-hopi-sacred-mask-auction-paris-20140627-story.html.

Brown, D. (2012).Te Pahi’s whare: the first European house inNew Zealand. Pp.164–186. In: Fabulation: myth, nature,heritage: Proceedings of the 29th Annual Conference of theSociety of Architectural Historians Australia & New Zealand,


Launceston, Tasmania, 5–8 July 2012. Launceston: Societyof Architectural Historians Australia and New Zealand.

Carlisle, L.J. (2008). Australian historical medals. Sydney: LeslieJ. Carlisle. 681pp.

Elgin Marbles (2014). In: Wikipedia: the free encyclopedia[website]. Retrieved on 7 October 2014 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elgin_Marbles.

Field, M. and Millett, T. (eds) (1998). Convict love tokens: theleaden hearts the convicts left behind. Adelaide: WakefieldPress. 120pp.

Flannery, T. (ed.) (1998). The explorers: stories of discovery andadventure from the Australian frontier. Melbourne: TextPublishing. 385pp.

Gary Singer (2014). In: Wikipedia: the free encyclopedia [website].Retrieved on 7 October 2014 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gary_Singer.

Hansen, D. (2014). Fine Asian, Australian & European arts &design: Sydney 15 April 2014. Sale catalogue. Sydney:Sotheby’s Australia.

Hawkins, J.B. (1989). Nineteenth-century Australian silver.Volume 1. Woodbridge, UK: Antique Collectors’ Club.715pp.

Houstone, J. and Wade, J. (2009). John Austin, forger andsilversmith. Australiana 31(4): 34–35.

Ihaka, J. (2014). Ngapuhi fear medal will be lost for good. New Zealand Herald, 16 April. Retrieved on 7 October2014 from www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=11238826.

Lee, J. (1983). The Bay of Islands. Auckland: Reed Publishing.328pp.

McNab, R. (ed.) (1908). Historical records of New Zealand.Volume 1. Wellington: Government Printer. 779pp.

McQuilkin, C. (2014). Te Papa and Auckland Museum work together to return Te Pahi medal to New Zealand. TePapa press statement, 16 April. Retrieved on 7 October2014 from www.tepapa.govt.nz/AboutUs/Media/Pages/TePapaandAucklandMuseumworktogethertoreturnTePahiMedaltoNewZealand.aspx.

Murphy, D. (2014). Maori haka protest against auction of aslice of their history. Sydney Morning Herald, 15 April.Retrieved on 7 October 2014 from www.smh.com.au/national/maori-haka-protest-against-auction-of-a-slice-of-their-history-20140414-36nq1.html.

Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (n.d.). Te Papa:more than a museum. Brochure. Retrieved on 7 October2014 from www.tepapa.govt.nz/SiteCollectionDocuments/PlanYourVisit/TePapa.Generic.Online.Brochure.English.pdf.

Nicholas, J.L. (1817). Narrative of a voyage to New Zealand,performed in the years 1814 and 1815, in company with theRev. Samuel Marsden. Volume 1. London: James Black andSon. 431pp.

O’Malley, V. (2012). The meeting place: Mäori and Päkehäencounters, 1642–1840. Auckland University Press. 320pp.

Salmond, A. (1997). Between worlds: early exchanges betweenMäori and Europeans 1773–1815. Auckland: Penguin.590pp.

Selvaratnam, N. (2014). Historic Maori medal returning toNZ. SBS World News radio transcript, 18 April. Retrieved on7 October 2014 from www.sbs.com.au/news/article/2014/04/18/historic-maori-medal-returning-nz?__federated=1.

Te Pahi’s long-lost medal ‘needs to come home’ (2014). BayChronicle, 3 April, p. 3. Retrieved on 7 October 2014 fromwww.stuff.co.nz/auckland/local-news/northland/bay-chronicle/9895113/Te-Pahis-long-lost-medal-needs-to-come-home.

Watson, J.F. (ed.) (1915). Historical records of Australia. Series1, volume V (July 1804–August 1806). Sydney: LibraryCommittee of the Commonwealth Parliament. 909pp.

Whitaker, A.-M. (ed.) (1998). Distracted settlement: New SouthWales after Bligh: from the journal of Lieutenant JamesFinucane. Melbourne: Miegunyah Press. 150pp.


IntroductionSeven species in the tree fern family Cyatheaceae arecurrently recognised as indigenous to the New ZealandBotanical Region (sensu Allan 1961) – Cyathea colensoi(Hook.f.) Domin, C. cunninghamii Hook.f., C. dealbata(G.Forst.) Sw., C.kermadecensis W.R.B.Oliv., C.medullaris(G.Forst.) Sw., C.milnei Hook. ex Hook.f. and C. smithiiHook.f. – along with one fully naturalised species, Cyatheacooperi (Hook. ex F.Muell.) Domin (Brownsey et al. 1985;Brownsey & Smith-Dodsworth 2000). Of the indigenousspecies, five occur on the main islands of New Zealand, andtwo, C.kermadecensis and C.milnei, are endemic to RaoulIsland. This is in the Kermadec Islands, c. 980km northeastof New Zealand’s North Island (Sykes 1977). These speciesfrom the Kermadec Islands, particularly their taxonomicstatus, are the focus of this paper.

Cyathea milnei was first collected during the voyage ofHMS Herald in 1854. Joseph Hooker (1856) used plant

collections made by John Macgillivray and William Milne

to publish an account of the botany of the Kermadec Islands,

but initially misidentified the tree ferns as C.medullaris. He

only later recognised C. milnei as a new species (Hooker

1867), based on a brief manuscript description by William

Hooker. Nevertheless, he asserted that the species was

‘very similar to C. medullaris’, a belief that was held by

Cheeseman (1888, 1906), Oliver (1910), Dobbie (1921)

and Crookes (1963). Cheeseman (1925) and Allan (1961)

were non-committal about its affinities, and it was not until

Holttum (1964) revised Cyathea in Australasia and the

Pacific that its true affinity became clear. Holttum noted

that it was ‘very near C.dealbata, the only clear distinction

… being the lack of white covering on lower surface of

lamina’ and ‘the indusia are perhaps more fragile than in

C.dealbata and do not so persistently form cups with [an]

entire rim’. This affinity was also noted by Sykes (1977)

and Brownsey & Smith-Dodsworth (2000). Recently, the


Re-evaluation of the taxonomic status of Cyathea kermadecensis and C.milnei (Cyatheaceae)

supports their continued recognition

Pat Brownsey and Leon PerrieMuseum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa, PO Box 467, Wellington, New Zealand

([email protected])

ABSTRACT: Two species of Cyathea (Cyatheaceae) have been recognised as endemic toRaoul Island in the Kermadec Islands: C. kermadecensis and C. milnei. However, theirrelationships to their mainland relatives – C. cunninghamii and C.dealbata, respectively –have been uncertain, with their morphological distinctiveness in question. Here, we reviewtheir taxonomic status. The DNA sequences investigated are uninformative as to delimi -tation of the Kermadec plants, but they do support a close relationship to the mainlandspecies. Morphologically, we find that C.kermadecensis can be consistently distinguishedfrom C. cunninghamii, and likewise C.milnei from C.dealbata. With no data to reassesswhether species or subspecies rank is most appropriate, we recommend the taxonomicallyconservative approach of retaining both C.kermadecensis and C.milnei as separate speciesfor now.

KEYWORDS: Cyatheaceae, Cyathea cunninghamii, Cyathea dealbata, Cyathea milnei,Cyathea kermadecensis, ferns, Kermadec Islands, New Zealand Botanical Region, taxonomy.

status of C.milnei as a distinct species has been questionedby Dawson & Lucas (2011), while de Lange (2009a) hassuggested that plants from the far north of New Zealandaround Te Paki are very similar to C.milnei. We have alsonoted this during fieldwork in Northland, and have specu -lated that the morphological characters used to separateC. milnei may actually be encompassed by the variationexhibited by C.dealbata.

Cyathea kermadecensis was not recorded until W.R.B.Oliver’s 10-month visit to the Kermadec Islands in 1908. Inhis account of the vegetation, Oliver (1910) pointed out thatonly one species had been recognised from Sunday [Raoul]Island, but that two species had been confused under thename C.milnei. In describing C.kermadecensis he identifieda number of morphological characters that distinguishedthem, and noted that they were also ecologically distinct,C.kermadecensis being more common in the higher, wetterforest, and C.milnei being more common in dry forest atlower altitudes. Cheeseman (1925) acknowledged his con -fusion of the two species and accepted that both occurredon Raoul. Subsequently, Allan (1961), Crookes (1963) andHolttum (1964) all accepted C.kermadecensis as a distinctspecies. Sykes (1977), Brownsey & Smith-Dodsworth(2000), de Lange (2009b) and Dawson & Lucas (2011)also all accepted the species, but pointed out that it wasvery similar to C. cunninghamii.

The status of Cyathea cunninghamii itself has not beenuniversally agreed by New Zealand authors. It was describedby Joseph Hooker (in W.J. Hooker 1854) but he laterobserved that it was ‘very similar to C. medullaris, and perhaps only a variety of it’ (Hooker 1867). Thomson (1882)agreed, noting that ‘probably it ought to be reduced to therank of variety of C.medullaris’. Cheeseman (1906, 1925)and Dobbie (1921) regarded it as a separate species, but continued to ally it with C. medullaris. However, Allan(1961) noted that ‘the status of the various forms that havebeen assigned to C. cunninghamii needs much further study,including the possibility that some may be the progeny ofC. medullaris × C. smithii ’. Crookes (1963) accepted thespecies and allied it with C.medullaris, but concluded that‘the species needs further study’. Holttum (1964) finallydemonstrated that C. cunninghamii was a distinct species,indicating that it was fundamentally different to C.medullarisby placing the two in different subgenera. Brownsey (1979)confirmed this distinction, showing that it was actually closer to C. smithii, and provided illustrations of the scalesand indusia to distinguish all three species.

In preparing the treatment of Cyatheaceae for the

electronic Flora of New Zealand (Brownsey & Perrie 2015a),

including typification (Brownsey & Perrie 2015b), we have

examined all the New Zealand species in detail. We present

here the results of our comparisons of the Kermadec Islands

species with their mainland relatives. We address concerns

about their distinctiveness, and provide more detail than

Holttum (1964), the only previous critical comparison.

MethodsThe collections of New Zealand Cyathea in AK, CHR and

WELT were examined (herbarium abbreviations follow

Thiers 2015). We also inspected mature plants of C. ker-

madecensis and C. milnei in cultivation at Otari-Wilton’s

Bush, Wellington. This was combined with previously

published information about morphology and ecology.

Because it is closely related (Korall et al. 2007), we included

the Australian C. australis in our comparison of C. milnei

with C.dealbata.

Additionally, DNA sequences for the rbcL and trnL-trnF

locus (trnL intron, trnL 3’-exon and the trnL-trnF inter -

genic spacer) were investigated because they are available for

many Cyathea species, and because we have found them

(particularly the trnL-trnF locus) to be useful for discerning

closely related fern species (e.g. Shepherd et al. 2007;

Perrie et al. 2013, 2014). Sequences for C.kermadecensis and

C.milnei were generated for individuals cultivated at Otari-

Wilton’s Bush. These were vouchered with WELT P027384

and P027383, respectively. Extraction of genomic DNA from

silica gel-dried frond tissue, polymerase chain reaction (PCR)

amplification of the target loci, purification of PCR products

and DNA sequencing followed Shepherd et al. (2007), but

the rbcL sequences were amplified using the primers

ESRBCL1F and ESRBCL1361 of Schuettpelz & Pryer

(2007). GenBank accession numbers are given in Table 1.

The sequences for Cyathea kermadecensis were compared

with sequences previously published to GenBank for

C.cunninghamii, along with other close relatives as indicated

by previous studies (e.g. Janssen et al. 2008; Korall & Pryer

2014). The same was done for C.milnei and C.dealbata.

All the sequences compared are noted in Table 1. Sequences

were aligned using Clustal X v. 2.1 (Larkin et al. 2007).

Because of the small number of genetic differences

recovered among the focal species, we did not undertake

phylogenetic analyses.


ResultsMorphology of Cyathea cunninghamii

and C.kermadecensisCyathea cunninghamii and C.kermadecensis both belong tosubgenus Alsophila (Korall et al. 2007), lacking the scaleswith dark marginal setae found in subgenus Sphaeropteris(Brownsey 1979: fig.1H). They differ from all other NewZealand species of Cyathea in having indusia that open atmaturity to form a hood shape (Brownsey 1979: fig.2B),and a more diverse array of hairs and scales, including larger, pale scales with a bullate base and a single apical seta (Brownsey 1979: fig. 1D), and acaroid (or stellate) scales that sometimes have expanded bases (Brownsey 1979:figs. 1E–G; Brownsey & Smith-Dodsworth 2000: fig.102).Both taxa grow into tree ferns with trunks up to 20 m tall,covered in appressed stipe bases or hexagonal scars, andbear fronds that drop with age (Oliver 1910: pl. XXII; Large& Braggins 2004: pls 39–40; Dawson & Lucas 2011: 110–111). The fronds themselves are of very similar proportionsand dissection (Table 2), and have stipe bases that aretuberculate and rough to the touch (Large & Braggins 2004:pl. 55). Ecologically, C. cunninghamii and C.kermadecensisare also similar, occurring as emergent species in forest inwetter areas.

One of the most obvious differences between the twospecies (Table 3) is that Cyathea kermadecensis lacks the thick-ened red acaroid scales that are common in C.cunninghamii

(Brownsey 1979: fig.1E). However, C.kermadecensis does

have colourless acaroid scales (Brownsey 1979: fig. 1F),

sometimes forming a dense appressed tomentum on the

stipe, rachis and costae. In C. cunninghamii, both red and

colourless acaroid scales are often present, sometimes also

with expanded pale bases (Brownsey 1979: fig.1G), but in

C. kermadecensis the scales with expanded bases normally

have only colourless apical proliferations, not thickened red

ones. Cyathea kermadecensis also usually has irregularly

curled acicular hairs on the abaxial surfaces (absent in

C. cunninghamii ), and a greater proportion of larger, pale

scales with bullate bases (Brownsey 1979: fig.1D) that tend

to obscure the acaroid scales (Fig. 1). The tertiary pinnae

of C. kermadecensis are usually crenate rather than deeply

divided. The stipe bases are predominantly black with pale

brown scales in C. cunninghamii, whereas both are pale or

red-brown in C.kermadecensis (Figs 2 and 3).

Morphology of Cyathea dealbata and C.milnei

Cyathea milnei and C. dealbata also belong to subgenus

Alsophila, and lack the scales with dark marginal setae

characteristic of subgenus Sphaeropteris. They differ from all

other New Zealand species of Cyathea in having indusia

that open at maturity to form a deep cup, and having curled

hairs, rather than scales, as the predominant indumentum

on the abaxial lamina surfaces (Brownsey & Smith-

Re-evaluation of the taxonomic status of Cyathea kermadecensis and C.milnei (Cyatheaceae) 51

Table1 Cyathea samples included in the DNA sequence comparisons of C.kermadecensis and C.milnei.

Species rbcL GenBank trnL-trnF GenBank Referenceaccession accession

C.kermadecensis KR153993 KR153995 New to this study

C. colensoi AM177322 AM410318 Korall et al. (2007)

C. cunninghamii AM410211 AM410339 Korall et al. (2007)

C. smithii AM410210 AM410338 Korall et al. (2007)

C.milnei KR153992 KR153994 New to this study

C.australis AM177319 AM410314 Korall et al. (2007)

C.dealbata AM410199 AM410326 Korall et al. (2007)

C.macarthurii AM410204 AM410335 Korall et al. (2007)

Table2 Trunk and frond dimensions for Cyathea cunninghamii and C.kermadecensis, as well as C.dealbata and C.milnei.

C. cunninghamii C.kermadecensis C.dealbata C.milnei

Trunk height (m) <20 <20 <12 <8

Frond length (mm) 1500–3000 2250–4000 2000–4000 1500–4000

Stipe length (mm) 80–450 80–250 80–900 70–400

Stipe scale length (mm) <50 <35 <70 <50

Stipe scale width (mm) 1–2 1 <3 <3

2-pinnnate-pinnatifid 2-pinnnate-pinnatifid 2-pinnnate-pinnatifid 2-pinnnate-pinnatifid Lamina dissection to to to to

3-pinnate-pinnatifid 2-pinnate-pinnatisect 2-pinnate-pinnatisect 2-pinnate-pinnatisect

Length of longest 270–600 325–610 290–650 350–700

primary pinna (mm)

Width of longest80–210 110–195 135–240 150–260

primary pinna (mm)


secondary pinna (mm)

Width of longest 9–28 14–35 13–30 15–27

secondary pinna (mm)


tertiary pinna (mm)

Width of longest 1.5–3 2–2.5 2–4 2.5–4

tertiary pinna (mm)

Diameter of sori (mm) 0.5–0.9 0.6–0.9 0.5–0.8 0.7–1.0

Dodsworth 2000: fig.103). The general form of the plantsis comparable (Fig. 4) – both are medium-sized tree fernswith trunks reaching 8–10 m tall, covered in projectingstipe bases or stipe scars, and with fronds that are up to 4mlong and held horizontally (Oliver 1910: pl. XXI; Large &Braggins 2004: pls 41–44; Dawson & Lucas 2011: 112–113). The fronds are of very similar proportions and dis -section (Table 2), and have stipe bases that are tuberculateand rough to the touch. Ecologically, C. milnei andC.dealbata are also similar, occurring as sub-canopy speciesin drier forest and open scrub.

The most obvious difference between the taxa (Table 4)is that in Cyathea dealbata the abaxial surface of the laminais usually white, whereas the abaxial lamina surfaces in

C. milnei are green (Fig. 5). The scales and hairs on theabaxial surfaces of the costae are morphologically similar inboth taxa, but proportionally there are fewer hairs and morescales in C.milnei than in C.dealbata (Fig. 5), and the scalesof C.milnei are often bunched along the costae, obscuringthe hairs. The sori of C.milnei are slightly larger than thoseof C. dealbata (0.7–1.0 mm cf. 0.5–0.8 mm in diameter)and the indusia are more fragile, less often forming acontinuous rim. The dead fronds of C. milnei are morefrequently persistent on the trunks than in C.dealbata, andthe stipe bases are more conspicuously tuberculate (Fig. 6).

The most compelling difference between the taxa is thecolour of the abaxial lamina surface, but even this issomewhat equivocal (Fig. 5). Young plants of Cyathea



Table3 Distinguishing characters for Cyathea cunninghamii and C.kermadecensis.

C. cunninghamii C.kermadecensis

Colour of stipe base Black Pale or red-brown(Figs 2 and 3)

Tertiary pinnae (Fig. 1) Divided up to ² /³ to midrib Crenate

Indumentum on abaxial Red or colourless acaroid scales present Red acaroid scales absent; surface of costae (Fig. 1) colourless scales often present

Ovate pale brown scales only scattered Ovate pale brown scales abundant

Pale brown ovate scales bearing Pale brown ovate scales lacking red apical setae red apical setae

Irregularly curled acicular hairs absent Irregularly curled acicular hairs usually present

Fig. 1 Abaxial surfaces of lamina and costae of Cyathea cunninghamii (left) and C.kermadecensis (right).


Fig. 2 The crown and trunk apices of Cyathea cunninghamii (left) and C.kermadecensis (right).

Fig. 3 Crown indumentum and stipe bases of Cyathea cunninghamii (left) and C.kermadecensis (right).


Fig. 4 Cyathea milnei (left) and C.dealbata (right) in cultivation at Otari-Wilton’s Bush, Wellington.

Fig. 5 Colour of the abaxial surface of the lamina, and indumentum on the abaxial surfaces of the costae, on specimens of Cyatheadealbata from outside Northland (left) and within Northland (centre), and of C.milnei (right).


dealbata produce fronds with a green undersurface; whiteundersurfaces are produced only as the plants get older.Some populations of C.dealbata in northern New Zealand,from Raglan to North Cape, and on Coppermine Island and the Three Kings Islands, have mature laminae withblue-grey, grey-green or almost green abaxial surfaces. Thecoloration of the stipes varies similarly (Figs 6 and 7). The northern plants do not appear to differ in any othercharacter from populations with white undersurfaces, exceptthat plants with prostrate rhizomes have been reported from Warawara Forest (Rawlings 1969), from Warkworth(Bryony Macmillan, CHR 199046) and from Radar Bush(Peter de Lange, WELT P027464; de Lange 2004). Cyatheatricolor, described by Colenso (1883) from Seventy-mileBush between Norsewood and Dannevirke but now reducedto synonymy with C.dealbata (Brownsey et al. 1985), wasalso noted for its ‘bluish tint’, as well as for its ‘shining dark-green upper foliage’. Occasional fertile fronds of C.dealbatathat lack the white undersurface are also found.

The Australian species Cyathea australis (R.Br.) Domin is closely related to C. dealbata (Korall et al. 2007), andtherefore also related to C.milnei. Cyathea australis differsmorphologically most obviously from C. dealbata andC.milnei in lacking indusia, which are replaced by a fringeof scales around the sori (Bostock 1998: fig.62D). It also

differs from C.dealbata by lacking the characteristic white

underside to the laminae, although plants in Queensland

sometimes have a glaucous surface (Bostock 1998). Cyatheaaustralis is generally a much larger tree fern, with trunks to

20m tall (Holttum 1964; Andrews 1990; Large & Braggins

2004: pls 22–23) and stipes to 800 mm long that have

conical spines to 3mm long (Bostock 1998). The hairs on

the undersurfaces are much narrower and less abundant,

and the scales rather smaller (generally less than 0.5 mm

long) than in the New Zealand taxa. The morphological

evidence therefore suggests that C.milnei and C.dealbata are

more similar to each other than either is to C.australis.

DNA sequences

There were no substitution differences in the rbcL or

trnL-trnF sequences of Cyathea kermadecensis and

C. cunning hamii. However, they did differ in the lengths of

two mononucleotide runs, with C. kermadecensis having

three fewer adenine bases at one mononucleotide run and

one less adenine at a second mononucleotide run.

The only substitution differences amongst the rbcL

and trnL-trnF sequences of Cyathea milnei, C. australisand C. dealbata were single (and separate) apomorphies

for each of C.australis and C.dealbata in their trnL-trnF

Table4 Distinguishing characters for Cyathea dealbata and C.milnei.

C.dealbata C.milnei

Dead fronds Usually persistent only in young plants Often persistent, forming a skirt around trunk

Colour of stipe base Usually whitish or pale brown Pale brown or green(Figs 6 and 7)

Surface of stipe base Tuberculate, rough Strongly tuberculate, very rough(Fig. 6)

Abaxial surface of lamina Usually white, rarely blue- or grey-green, Greenof mature plants (Fig. 5) or very rarely green

Indumentum on abaxial Curly hairs abundant Curly hairs scatteredsurface of secondary

Ovate pale brown scales occasional Ovate pale brown scales abundantcostae (Fig. 5)

Sori Forming a deep cup at maturity, Forming a deep cup at maturity, becoming shallow quickly breaking up0.5–0.8 mm diameter 0.7–1.0 mm diameter


Fig. 7 The crown and trunk apices of specimens of Cyathea dealbata from outside Northland (left) and within Northland (centre),and of C.milnei (right).

Fig.6 The stipe bases of specimens of Cyathea dealbata from outside Northland (left) and within Northland (centre), and of C.milnei(right). Cyathea milnei is more tuberculate.

sequences. There were also length differences at twomononucleotide runs, with C. milnei having one moreadenine base than C.dealbata and one less than C.australisat one mononucleotide run, and three more thymine basesthan C.dealbata and six more than C.australis at a secondmononucleotide run.

DiscussionCyathea kermadecensis and C. milnei from the KermadecIslands have long been recognised as separate species. OnRaoul Island, they are easily distinguished from one another(Brownsey & Perrie 2015a): C. kermadecensis has hood-shaped mature indusia and lacks obvious curly hairs on theabaxial surface of the lamina, while C.milnei has cup-shapedmature indusia and abundant curly hairs on the abaxialsurface of the lamina. Further differences include stipecolour (Figs 2 and 7), the form of the trunks (including thegeneral persistence of dead fronds as a skirt on C.milnei,although this is not evident on the cultivated plant in Fig.7)and ecology, as previously noted. However, the status ofC.kermadecensis and C.milnei with respect to species fromelsewhere has received little critical examination. Our studyis the first comprehensive account of how they comparewith the species to which they are each most closely related.

Substantial differences between the DNA sequences ofthe Kermadec Islands plants and the mainland plants couldhave been taken as support for their recognition as distinctspecies. However, in both pairs of species the DNA

sequences are nearly invariable, and variation is of a levelconsistent with both infraspecific and interspecificdifferences that have been reported previously in ferns,particularly in the context of the deceleration of molecularevolution observed in tree ferns (Korall et al. 2010). Thesegenetic data are therefore inconclusive as to whether theKermadec Islands populations should be segregated asdistinct species; however, they do reinforce the closerelationships inferred from the morphology.

Morphological examination indicates that, in both cases,the Kermadec Islands populations can be distinguishedconsistently (Tables 3 and 4). The critical question then iswhether the Kermadec Islands populations should besegregated taxonomically from their allopatric relatives, and,if so, at what rank – subspecies or species? In the case ofCyathea cunninghamii and C.kermadecensis, the former is awidespread species occurring in Australia from Tasmaniato southern Queensland, and in New Zealand from

Fiordland to North Cape and on the Chatham Islands.Cyathea cunninghamii, or an ancestor, has evidently in thepast also spread to the Kermadec Islands, where it hasevolved in isolation some minor, but consistent, variation.The Kermadec Islands plants are morphologically moredistinct from either the Australian or New Zealand plantsthan the latter two are from each other. With C.dealbata andC. milnei, it seems that morphological divergence hassimilarly occurred as a result of geographic isolation onRaoul Island.

In conclusion, the Kermadec Islands plants in both speciespairs are morphologically distinct. However, we have noinformative data as to their precise relationship to their main-land relatives, in particular as to whether they are reciprocallymonophyletic or metaphyletic/paraphyletic (see Brownsey& Perrie 2014). Consequently, with no definitive evidence to the contrary, we adopt the taxonomically conservativeapproach of retaining both Cyathea kermadecensis and C. milnei as separate species in our treatment for the electronic Flora of New Zealand (Brownsey & Perrie 2015a).This includes full descriptions, based on specimens at AK,CHR and WELT (all annotated as seen for the Flora), and anidentification key for all New Zealand Cyathea. We note,nevertheless, that future analyses that provide a more detailedunderstanding of the genealogy of the Raoul Island Cyatheamay see their taxonomic rank revisited.

Cyathea kermadecensis and C.milnei are noteworthy inbeing among the c. 25 species of vascular plants endemic tothe Kermadec Islands (Sykes 1977; West et al. 2010). Thetwo Cyathea species nevertheless conform to a generalpattern where most of the indigenous vascular plants of thesubtropical Kermadec Islands are closely related to, if notconspecific with, those of temperate mainland New Zealand(Sykes & West 1996). This likely reflects the geologicalyouthfulness (Pleistocene), instability (volcanism) and smallsize of the Kermadec Islands (Sykes 1977).

AcknowledgementsWe thank Lara Shepherd of the Museum of New ZealandTe Papa Tongarewa for generating the DNA sequences of theKermadec Islands Cyathea ; Peter de Lange and Jeremy Rolfefor discussion and for images and a specimen of prostrateCyathea dealbata from Radar Bush; and staff of AK, CHR,WELT and Otari-Wilton’s Bush for facilitating examinationof material in their care.


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